


The Late Shift

by morphenomenal



Category: DRAMAtical Murder
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Attempt at Humor, Blow Jobs, Denial, Hand Jobs, Implied Relationships, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Violence, Misunderstandings, Switching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-27
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-01-20 22:40:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 81,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1528319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morphenomenal/pseuds/morphenomenal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Noiz is a college student on winter break, bored out of his mind, and decides to fill out an application for a coffee shop. Naturally, he gets the job and ends up working the late shift where nothing happens at all. </p><p>Until a man dressed like a snobbish asshole walks in, asks about Noiz’s blue haired co-worker, and ruins everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A story that should've been about 5,000 words tops and ends up becoming a monster. 
> 
> This is my first fic for this fandom and on this lovely website. Actually, this is my first time posting slash of any sort. *sweats nervously* This idea popped into my head one day and wouldn't leave me alone, so I wrote it out to get it out of my system and it kept growing and growing. 
> 
> I hope it's somewhat enjoyable.

He’s down to his last two arcade tokens.

Within the past two weeks, he achieved the top scores for more than half of the arcade games. It was a ridiculously easy feat and nothing worth bragging to anybody about, not that he ever bragged to anyone.

He closes his fingers over the coin as he heads for another machine. It’s a standard fighting game. It was old but not considered a “classic” and the machinery had clearly seen better days. But he’s running out of choices and now isn’t the time to be getting picky. A game’s a game. Skimming through the characters on the screen, he settles on a scantily clad blonde girl wearing white bunny ears and a fuzzy white tail. He beats the game faster than he’d like, knocking out some kid initialed R.E.N's high score off the board.

He’s out of tokens.

Money isn’t an issue. A wad of cash burns a hole in Noiz’s pocket but there’s nothing else here. At this time of day, the arcade is mostly empty but today is a different story. A handful of little brats – two boys and a girl – are bustling about, drawing as much attention to them as possible. They huddle together at where the popular games were showcased in the center of the building. Noiz beat those games a long time ago and he isn’t about to stick around to see how some brats fair at playing them.

The last school quarter had come and gone, allowing winter break to abruptly swoop in to take its place. His vacation has started with less of a bang and more of a dud grenade. Boredom is his new companion and has never left his side, especially when there isn’t much to do without too much effort involved.

Swinging by bars for free drinks from horny perverts lost its luster ages ago. His body still ached from the last bar fight he partook in. He doesn’t feel any actual pain – never did and most likely never will – but he supposes he should let his body rest for a couple of days, especially if he decides to do anything too drastic in the near future. He took a harsh beating to his face. It was so bad that even _he_ winced when he took the time to see his reflection. Now, he can see through his right eye and the deep purple bruise on his shoulder has turned slightly green.

He’s on his way to a speedy recovery.

College life is just as Noiz expected it to be: extremely dull and, while not necessarily a _total_ waste of time, it’s a major pain in the ass. Taking a long deserved break from schoolwork and ass-sleeping lectures was a welcoming change, but Noiz didn’t expect that he’d have nothing to do without school constantly in the way.

Already in his second year of college, Noiz hadn’t really made any friends per se. Nor did he have any desire to make some. Frolicking around campus was a cheerful guy who was friendly to everyone. He always had an umbrella in hand even when the weather was bright, cheery, and without a cloud in sight. He was the epitome of happiness, bright like the sun that Noiz’s eyes burned from looking at him. He was the type of guy who enjoyed making friends. He was the type of guy Noiz could live without. Whenever Noiz spotted him, he avoided him like the plague. He had a feeling if he spoke with him even once, he’d never be able to get rid of him. But the cheery umbrella guy was nothing to worry about whenever he was clinging onto some blue haired guy Noiz vaguely remembered in one of his classes.

While Noiz hasn’t made any friends, he’d met plenty of horny college students. He’s gotten laid enough times that his sexual desires are momentarily sated, which is, unfortunately, just another thing he can’t actively engage in. Noiz didn’t think the day would come when he’d be tired of sex but it has and he’s steadily running out of options. School wouldn’t be in session for another long month. What else was there to do?

A place Noiz frequently walked past, he barely paid attention to it really, was a coffee shop. Noiz was surprised it hadn’t been bought out and sold a long time ago. The design for the building was plain and so was the inside. It was a pretty forgettable place, at a lousy location, and Noiz disliked coffee anyway. In the last few days, Noiz couldn’t help but notice a help wanted sign taped to the window.

So, though he didn’t need to, Noiz applied for the job.

He goes to the interview in a gray three-piece suit, but doesn’t bother to hide the bruises, scabs and cuts on his skin . . . but he's left his beanie at home.

The person conducting the interview introduces themselves as the owner of the coffee shop. “I’m Sei.”

Sei’s appearance is so androgynous that Noiz isn’t sure if Sei's a man or a woman, but Noiz moves past his bemusement pretty fast and realizes how overdressed he is. Sei dons an open shoulder off-white long sleeved shirt, leggings with skeletons printed on them, and a black pleated skirt.

"Please, take a seat," Sei says gently from their desk.

Noiz sits down onto Sei's couch and mildly takes note of the giant stuffed bear propped next to him.

Sei fiddles with a tablet and Noiz can hear a small noise each time Sei's swipes a finger across the screen. There's a computer, an older model Noiz wasn't aware people still used, set up neatly for the owner but it's left untouched. Sei's office walls are coated in bright vibrant colors. It greatly contrasts with the plainness of the shop (according to Sei they're in the middle of remodeling things). A small bookshelf is close to Sei's desk. Every shelf is filled with hard covered books or tiny stuffed animals. Really, there were stuffed animals everywhere he looked and dancing pasties or singing candies. He was sitting in Willy Wonka's office.

"Okay," Sei lowers the tablet. "Let's begin the interview."

As the interview proceeds, Sei seems unfazed by Noiz's less than stellar appearance. When Noiz scratches at his neck and flicks dried blood out from his fingernails, Sei doesn’t even bat an eye. The interview ends ends in under fifteen minutes. Noiz gets to his feet, crossing the room to end things with a handshake and to get out of this teeth aching room. In his haste, Noiz's hand hits Sei's cup, splattering liquid over Sei's top and skirt. Sei leaps to their feet, fussing with the hem of their shirt and smoothing out their skirt. Other than that, Sei is relatively calm for someone who just had tea all over their clothes and accepts Noiz's hand.

Thanks to the tea seeping into Sei’s shirt, Noiz gets more than an eyeful of what’s under his potential future boss’s shirt. Sei has a rather chiseled chest for such a small frame. Noiz jerks his stare upwards and meets Sei’s stare dead on.

Sei cocks his head and smiles sweetly. “It was nice meeting you, Noiz.” He squeezes Noiz hand – a nice body and a strong grip – as he returns the handshake.

Noiz is sure he’s left a good impression.

* * *

In less than three days later, Noiz receives a phone call.

He got the job. 

* * *

On Noiz’s first day of work, he works the register. Sei wants to start him off easy, before he has Noiz making drinks or baking pasties in the kitchen. Two other co-workers are working with him. There's Clear, who Noiz instantly recognizes as the over-the-top cheerful guy from school. Apparently there was no escaping him. Then there’s Mink, who doesn’t say much, wears a constant scowl and looks like he’d easily crush the coffee equipment at any given second.

The day is off to a slow start. The shop opens at approximately six o'clock. It's seven o'clock now and not a single person has shown up. Working at a coffee shop is just as exciting as Noiz thought it would be. To pass the time, Clear gives Noiz an assortment of questions – he really wants to get to know the new employee. Noiz's answers are yes or no, even when it's not a yes or no question.

Every so often Mink stifles a yawn. He absently rubs a washcloth over the counter where the coffee equipment is set up. Mink maneuvers the cloth in small circles, as he carefully scrubs the machinery. He's so careful, as if he's scrubbing down a prized trophy rather than a machine that makes lattes.

Finally, the shop's cheery chime sounds off as the door swings open.

Clear's inquiry is left unsaid as he faces the front. "Welcome to the _Cappuccino Princess_ ," is the shop's standard greeting whenever someone walks into the shop. No one else but Clear seems to use it. "Our coffee _captures_ all five human senses!"

Walking in is a young woman who has her eyes glued to her cell phone. What a proper fit for Noiz’s very first customer. The woman places her order, using a snotty tone that makes Noiz’s eyebrows twitch. Noiz toys with his tongue ring, as he relays the order to Mink who immediately gets to work. Once the woman has her drink in hand, she’s back on her phone and leaving for the exit, while she lifts her cup up to her lips. The tip of her boot is barely out the door when she whirls on her heels and stomps back over to the register.

“This isn’t what I ordered!” the woman snaps, sticking her tongue out in disgust. “I told you I wanted decaf. This _so_ isn’t decaf. I can’t go to work hyped up on caffeine! And I wanted soy milk which this _so_ isn’t!” she slams her cup on the counter and crosses her arms over her chest, giving Noiz an expectant look.

“We’re very sorry, ma’am,” Clear swoops in with an apology. “We’ll make sure to have your order just the way you like it.”

Rolling his eyes, Mink remakes the woman’s drink. He makes a show of using the correct ingredients this time around, holds up the soy milk, and then adds it to the cup. Noiz has barely worked for two hours and he was already close to hurling insults at the woman.

The woman sneers as she takes the offered cup from Mink and takes another small sip. An indignant cry leaves her. She dramatically faces them again. “This is awful!” she proclaims hysterically. “No wonder no one comes in here!”

“My bad,” Noiz cuts off Clear’s apology and _accidentally_ knocks over the woman's first cup.

Above the woman’s screams, Noiz can hear Clear shout his name. He can even hear Mink chuckling behind him. The woman wasn't burned or hurt in any way, but she was very vocal about her jacket being ruined. She demanded compensation and she received it in the form of a gift card for free drinks at the shop. Suffice to say, she wasn't coming back anytime soon.

Noiz gets an earful about the coffee spilling from his boss. He half-listens through the lecture and from what little he notices, it seems like Sei's reading something prewritten off of his tablet. Though Sei doesn't seem to care about the incident, he wants Noiz to treat customers better since the shop was very interested in their money.

Already not off to a great start, Sei decides to play it safe and switch things up a bit. Noiz goes through the proper training and gets to make drinks. In a short time, he memorizes every drink in the _Cappuccino Princess'_ recipe book. He's surprised what people will willingly subject their body to. Fixing up orders is a lot more interesting than dealing with people. After starting a handful of fires in the kitchen, Noiz was banned from any further baking attempts. Something Aoba is truly grateful for.

The last few times Noiz handled the register, what little business the coffee shop had significantly dropped. At this rate, Noiz thought he'd be fired but Sei keeps him around even after scaring or annoying the umpteenth customer away. It's only when things are running slow and there aren't any customers that Sei risks putting Noiz at the register.

A shift Noiz is mostly given, and he personally prefers, is the late shift. What a big surprise that there weren't many willing takers to stay at the shop so late. The rest of the _Cappuccino Princess_ ’ limited staff either have another part-time job like Mink, don’t like staying late like Aoba, and Sei thinks Clear just needs to take a break from staying so late at the shop. It doesn't take much convincing on Sei's part for Noiz to agree to the new schedule change.

By the time Noiz swings by to start his shift, no one ever sticks around aside from Sei. The only work left to do is clean-up. Noiz takes out the trash, sweeps the floor, and cleans the equipment. He usually finishes everything with enough time to spare for him to tinker on his laptop. He’s fine with this new arrangement. He doesn’t have to deal with anyone and the amount of work is minimal, but he can’t shake the boredom that keeps coming back.

Nothing ever happens during the late shift. 

* * *

Well, _almost_ nothing ever happens during the late shift. Things are always subject to change.

The time on Noiz’s laptop reads a little past nine o’clock when the door to the coffee shop opens. Noiz glances up to see a man standing in the middle of the shop. The man’s lips are drawn in a tight frown and his eyes flickered left to right, as if he isn’t sure where to look. The man was dressed strangely: in a dark red trench coat, faded blue jeans, and black boots. He looked nothing like the usual types of people who went to the shop.

The majority of the _Cappuccino Princess’s_ customers were mainly hipsters, weirdoes, or snobbish assholes. Sometimes someone was a mixture of all three. Noiz can’t categorize the man in front of him, but he settles with labeling him as an asshole. Nowadays, everyone was some sort of variation of an asshole and he did look kind of snobbish.

The man was tall and lean. His dark navy hair was tied back in a low ponytail. There's a scar on the bridge of the man's nose, traveling from under his bangs and over to his other cheek. The man avoids eye contact and since he’s taller than Noiz by several inches, he stares right past him. Noiz would never admit it but the man’s tall frame is somewhat intimidating . . . but if he were to compare the man to Mink’s looming muscular build, there was no contest on who was more threatening or oozed the most testosterone.

Finally, the man’s ruby eyes meet his. Meeting his gaze is so sudden that Noiz straightens his posture, but the shock stays briefly and he slouches again.

Noiz slams his laptop shut. “What do you want?” he opens with his usual greeting to customers. His painful lack of enthusiasm leaks plainly through Noiz’s words.

If Sei was there, he would’ve told Noiz to brighten up and to try on a more welcoming attitude. Apparently, people didn't find sarcasm and scowls to be particularly friendly. Perhaps people just didn't like hearing the truth so early in the morning. However, this could be something acceptable during night. Everyone is more awake, after all.

The man starts, as if he'd just realized Noiz was there. He opens his mouth, shuts it, and then curtly nods.

“There’s not much I can get from a nod.”

“You’re right,” the man chuckles and rubs the back of his neck. “Um,” he looks up at the menu and squints, as if he doesn’t recognize any of the writing on the board. “What do you recommend?”

Noiz frowns. “I don’t care.”

“Now, that is some great customer service,” the man drawls and gestures to the empty shop. “I can see why this place is so packed.”

He hasn't been in the man's company for five minutes and Noiz already doesn't like him. A dry retort is on the tip of his tongue, but the man swiftly orders and Noiz has no choice but to reluctantly comply. Forcing on a smile, Noiz gets to work. As he's mixing in some creamer, he checks behind him and catches the man watching him like a hawk. Noiz turns away with a scowl – since he’s being watched with such scrutiny, he doesn't have the luxury of spicing up the man's drink with a dollop of spit.

* * *

The man keeps coming back.

By now, Noiz expects him and keeps an empty cup ready next to him. The door chimes at the same time, a little after nine o’clock and the man saunters in with the same lost look marred on his face.

Without looking away from his laptop, Noiz says. “This isn’t an art gallery. As pathetic as it looks, this is a coffee shop. Order something or get out.”

To avoid Noiz’s berating, the man quickly orders a coffee, tea, or whatever other drink he decides on for the day. Normally, a regular would settle on a favorite drink, but the man’s orders are sporadic. Never once has he finished his cup, it’s a smallest size they have and every time, it’s the same thing with the man – he takes the tiniest sip possible and puts his cup down, never touching it again. After that, he spends the rest of his stay staring outside or glancing every now and then at Noiz.

Not only does the man’s bizarre behavior irk him but his lame attempts at being subtle are driving Noiz up a wall. If he needed a fuck so badly, all he needed to do was ask. Nothing eloquent needed to be said. No seduction or an elaborate plan to get into his pants was needed. Something as simple as “wanna fuck?” would suffice. He’s heard just about everything and he hadn’t turned a single proposition down.

Noiz loses count of how many times he catches the man looking over. He can’t focus on his laptop, on his programs or on anything. His fingers clack on the keyboard, conjuring up total gibberish across his screen.

He would’ve kicked him out a long time ago but the man’s not necessarily doing anything disruptive. Besides, the last few people Noiz booted out of the shop didn’t seem to sit very well with Sei.  

After listening to Noiz’s perfectly legitimate reasoning, Sei had sighed and told him. “You can’t just kick people out for _existing_ , Noiz.”

So, for now, Noiz deals with it.

He deals with it for four or five days before he’s had enough of it.

The unsubtle fucker is four minutes late and has the nerve to walk into the shop as if he’s on time. Noiz kicks at the slowly growing pile of crumbled cups next to him and practically pounds down on his keyboard. The man’s barely halfway to the register, before Noiz closes his laptop with a loud slam.

“Um,” the man blinks, wearing an uneasy smile. “I’ll just have a cup of coffee. Don’t feel like having anything fancy tonight.”

“Just a cup of coffee?” Noiz reiterates. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else?”

“Just coffee is fine.”

Noiz can easily read past his lie – it’s so obvious, so _pathetically_ obvious that this freak wants to ask him something – but he gets the guy his lousy coffee. There was no way _he_ was going to ask for him. He never had to before so why start now?

He glares after the man as he takes his seat and takes his first and only sip. _Hope you choke on it._

Unfortunately, Noiz’s message doesn’t seem to reach the man and he spends fifteen minutes glaring at the back of his head. Imaging lodging sharp objects into his skull eases Noiz enough that he reopens his laptop and opens an application. He’s programming absolute garbage but it’s getting his mind flowing and the clacking from his keyboard is somewhat therapeutic. He gets so absorbed in his work that he barely registers someone clearing their throat.

Noiz hadn’t noticed the man get up. He looks over to his table and sees his cup is gone. Usually, this was the part where the man would make his quiet exit. Frowning, Noiz places his attention to the man and crosses his arms over his chest.

The man shifts from side to side. “Excuse me. I don’t mean to be a bother.” He’s using such a polite tone. Noiz hasn’t ever been spoken to so respectfully. It’s unsettling.

But the politeness isn’t what he should be fixating on. The real matter is that the man hadn’t left, he was still here and he was talking to him. Noiz didn’t know how or care how it happened but, somewhere along the way, the man must’ve finally grown a pair of balls. Snails were faster at getting what they wanted.

The man fumbles with the red sash on his neck brace. Any previous thought Noiz had that the man was mature or – Noiz scoffs – intimidating was immediately taken back. The man was anything but threatening. He was a bumbling idiot.

“I’m looking for…” the man trails off and a nervous smiles work it’s away over his lips.

He’s _this_ close to dragging the man across the counter and doing the deed on the floor. Just this once, he’d break how these things would typically go. Anything as long as it’d get this guy out of his life forever.

“I’m looking for someone who works here.”

Noiz blinks. _What?_

It’s rare, very rare, for him to misinterpret something like this. But technically he isn’t entirely wrong. The man did want to ask him something and he was sure that whoever this man was looking for was someone he was interested in. That someone just wasn’t him.

Noiz lets that realization sink in (the disappointment that settles low in his gut makes little to no sense to him, but it has been awhile since he’s had sex and his body must be craving for something physical), before he considers the idiot’s words. The coffee shop is a small quant place. Sei’s staff isn’t made up of many workers. The man could be talking about anyone.

Noiz raises an eyebrow. “A lot of people work here.”

“Well –”

“What do they look like?” he asks offhandedly.

“Well,” the man repeats and pauses for a few seconds. “He has blue hair.”

That’s all Noiz needs to know. There’s only one person working at the shop with blue hair. “Are you talking about Aoba?”

When the man hears the name, his eyes soften and his cheeks start to color. “Aoba?” he repeats with a soft sigh. “Yes, I think that’s right. Do you think you could tell me when he’s working?”

The man’s gaze holds a hopeful glint, as his lips curve into a slight smile. Seeing that kind of expression on the man’s face makes the corners of Noiz’s mouth droop to a frown. Such blatant happiness rubs Noiz off the wrong way. It’s not like he owes the man anything. He has no idea what sort of relationship he has with Aoba. For all he knew, the guy could be a deranged stalker with a weird fetish.

“Sure,” Noiz smiles dryly. “I’ll tell you.”

He tells him the wrong shift. 

* * *

The next day, the man returns to the shop wearing a tight-lipped smile. “I didn’t see him.”

“My mistake,” Noiz shrugs. “I must’ve mixed up his schedule with someone else’s.”

Noiz tells him another time, another shift.

The man gives him a sidelong, almost doubtful glance, before thanking him.

It’s still the wrong one.

This pattern repeats for the rest of the week. Each time the man returns, it’s painfully obvious that he’s becoming more and more annoyed with him. Anyone with an actual brain would think to ask someone else for help instead of crawling back to him to ask the same question (“When is Aoba working?”), but for some strange reason the man refuses to back down.

Noiz would never admit it to anyone or even himself but . . . he sort of looks forward to see the man arrive, flashing Noiz a heated glare, a nasty scowl, and demanding to know the correct time of Aoba’s shift.

Well, Noiz always enjoyed crushing people’s spirits whenever he could. 

* * *

A slow day brings a slow start to Noiz’s shift. Boredom consumes him that Noiz opens and closes his laptop repeatedly, before he tucks it inside his backpack. His eyes are locked onto the cupcake shaped clock hanging above the shop’s entrance. Noiz absently keeps track of every minute that ticks by.

Two weeks have passed since he’s last seen him. Actually, it was two weeks and a half since they were already in their third week. But it isn’t like Noiz is _willingly_ counting the days when the man hadn’t stopped by the shop. It was just something he couldn’t help but reluctantly acknowledge. That’s all.

Late shifts weren’t exactly filled with jam-packed excitement. There wasn’t any action or any sense of thrill like Noiz would experience after a good fist fight, or after getting brutally pounded into a dirty mattress. There was nothing in the shop but boredom.

Maybe the idiot finally met Aoba. Or maybe he didn’t and gave up. Either choice sounded like a plausible answer. Either choice wasn’t bringing the man back to the shop.

Bringing Noiz out of his thoughts is the door swinging open. The brief chime fills the shop, mixing in with the music playing softly on the speakers. The man storms inside, looking the same as ever, and makes a beeline for Noiz, his gaze burning holes into his face. He slams his hands onto the counter, baring his teeth in a snarl like an aggravated dog.

Noiz’s fingers twitch at his side, resisting the urge to grab the spray bottle behind him and spray him with it.

“Listen here, you little shit,” the man growls furiously. “I’m getting really annoyed with whatever you’re trying to pull here.”

Noiz lifts his hand up to idly inspect his fingernails. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Tell me when Aoba’s working.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so!” the man retorts childishly. “It isn’t any of your business.”

“When you’re talking about one of my coworkers, it _is_ my business,” Noiz replies coolly. “How do I know you’re not some sort of creep?”

“Creep?” he echoes in a soft whisper. His eyes widen in disbelief as if he’d just muttered a swear word.

“Or a stalker,” Noiz adds helpfully.

“I’m not a –”

“Are you going to order something, _sir?_ ” Noiz interjects, adding extra emphasis to the last word. “You can’t loiter in here, _sir_. If you’re not here for a drink, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, _sir_.”

The man’s mouth opens and closes, he’s doing a perfect expression of a gaping fish. He snaps his mouth shut, his jawline clenches, and he orders a drink through his teeth before he skulks over to his table.

Whenever Noiz takes a customer’s order, he never asks for the customer’s name. Instead, he prefers to write down his opinion of the person. Noiz’s preferred method has earned him plenty of scolding from Sei and far too many complaints from customers, but that doesn’t mean Noiz will stop anytime soon. This is probably just another reason why Noiz was given this shift.

Noiz hasn’t bothered to write anything on the man’s cup . . . until now. He quickly scribbles something across the cup and starts making his drink. It’s a fairly easy order that doesn’t require many ingredients that he’s done whipping it up within a few minutes.

“Hey, Creep!” Noiz calls out to him. “Your order’s done!”

The man jolts upright in his chair, as if he’d dozed off for a short moment. Letting out a huff, he gets up and grabs his drink.

Noiz shuffles behind the register, scrubbing away at the counter with a dishrag and waits.

An indignant grunt echoes in the empty shop and a smirk curls over Noiz’s lips as the man seethes. The man’s boots click angrily on the tiled floor as he stomps over to Noiz.

“’Fugly Stalker?’” he snatches the pen from Noiz’s apron pocket and furiously crosses it off the cup and storms out of the shop. 

* * *

In the following days, Noiz adds: “Pervert” to one cup, “Creeper” to another, and “Obsessed Freak” onto an actual mug. Some nicknames earn him an eye roll, a scowl, or a heated glare. Sometimes, it’s a combination of two or all three. It doesn’t take much to rile the man up but Noiz tries to be creative. “Desperate for Some Action” almost gets him decked in the face. He writes down “Old Man” when the man snobbishly informs him that he should respect his elders. Noiz is getting way too much entertainment from this but he isn’t going to stop.

As this goes on, the man gradually stops leaving after grabbing his order. Instead, he tosses a snappy retort in Noiz’s direction before sitting down at his usual seat. To shatter the aggravating silence in the coffee shop, they would banter back and forth and try to one up each other with an impressive insult. Most of the time Noiz wins their verbal assaults and he makes sure to reminds the man of this. The man’s vocabulary is extensive enough that he has a certain range of knowledge regarding obscenities. Noiz hears him dropping F-bombs and other such things in horrible accented English and Japanese. The man strings curses together so easily that if he’d been talking to anyone else, they wouldn’t be able to keep their composure intact.

On the slight chance that someone walks in, the man immediately clams up and pays close attention to his drink.

(“Does the old man have a reputation to uphold?” Noiz says once they’re alone again. “Can’t let anyone know about that potty mouth?”

The man flips him off over his shoulder.

“Speechless? Looks like I win again.”

He retrieves a napkin from his apron and adds another tally under his name.)

But mostly it’s just them in the shop and they keep this routine going long enough that Noiz stops keeping track of how many tally marks he has. The man had no chance of catching up to him. But he keeps the napkin, anyway.

* * *

Their typical routine is broken one day.

After labeling the man's cup, "Right Hand Only", the man suggests Noiz join him at the table.

The man’s reason for his invitation is mind-blowing: “It’s not like you’re doing anything.”

Noiz hesitates. _What’s he planning?_

Holding a small tray, Noiz makes his way to the table and holds it out for the man to accept his drink. The man looks at what he’s written, frowns at it but says nothing. He extends his leg out and nudges forward the empty chair in front of him. Further showing how impressive he was at being subtle. Mulling over his next move, Noiz drops the tray on the tabletop and sits down.

The man’s eyes flicker over him (and if Noiz didn’t know better he’d think he was checking him out but he does know better) and he pauses at his chest. Noiz arches an eyebrow and looks at his apron. The colorful _Cappuccino Princess_ logo was printed across it and a large pocket stitched under it that Noiz crammed with notepads, pens, pencils, and bunched up napkins. The man is transfixed with something. It’s his nametag that must’ve gotten his attention. Printed out onto the piece of blue plastic was “Aoba”.

The longer Noiz worked at the coffee shop, the more he got to know his coworkers. Aoba, for instance, was ridiculously easy to piss off. He could give the man a run for his money. It took the littlest things to get Aoba upset, which Noiz took advantage of whenever he could. Aoba didn’t like anyone getting into his things. To be fair, Noiz hadn’t intentionally wanted to figure out the combination to his locker and take his apron.

“In case this wasn’t obvious enough this belongs to Aoba. He _touched_ this,” Noiz drawls, lightly tugging at the nametag. “Do you want it?”

The man scoffs. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Noiz rolls his eyes. Because it wasn't already ridiculous that he's been gawking at a piece of plastic. The man brings his cup to his mouth and glances off to the side. It seems like the man's finally loses interest in the nametag. Noiz takes his phone out – there are a bundle of unread texts from unknown numbers asking whenever he was available for a quickie. Usually, he'd give a speedy response and ask for the time, the location, and other small details but he deletes the messages and lowers his phone.

Noiz's lips purse into a thin line as he shamelessly looks over the man across from him. The man's dressed in a red jacket that's pulled over a matching colored sweatshirt. He's not wearing his neck brace, so Noiz can fully see the lightly tanned column of his neck. Every time he swallows, his Adam's apple bobs just so. The long fingers wrapped around the cup have scars crossing over his knuckles in a random pattern. Making no effort to hide his stares, Noiz doesn’t avert his eyes when the man catches him in the act.

An odd smile twitches on the man’s lips. “It’s rude to stare.”

"It's rude to stalk people,” Noiz counters swiftly.

The man grumbles to himself and breaks his one drink record. At the rate he was going, he might get through one eighth of his beverage tonight. Noiz spins his phone on the table, twirling it in fast circles and then changes to slow circles. The man taps his index finger on the table and keeps this up before Noiz throws a wad of napkins at him.

Noiz checks the time on his phone and pockets it. It was 10:30. By now, the man would’ve already left half an hour earlier.

Sei preferred to close the shop sometime before eleven. But today was a different case. Sei had left earlier, leaving Noiz with the keys to lock up. Noiz didn’t know where this newfound trust from his boss came from but he wasn’t about to question it.

“Hey, old man,” Noiz stands and picks up the tray. “Get out. I’ve got to close up.”

The man has his chin propped on his palm and mumbles into his fingers.

“What?”

He mumbles something intangible again.

“Try again without your fingers shoved down your throat, freak.”

Scowling, the man slams his hand on the table and glowers at him. “Koujaku,” he growls. “My name’s Koujaku.”

“Oh?” Noiz says, leaning forward with a leer. “That’s too bad. I think old man suits you much better.”

“Whatever.” Koujaku crunches his cup and chucks it at the trashcan on his way out. He misses completely but doesn't make a move to pick up his trash, as if he actually has to go somewhere. Funny, he didn't seem to be in such a hurry before. 

Noiz twirls Sei’s key ring around his finger. “Hey.”

With the door ajar, Koujkau stops to look at him expectantly. "What?"

He jerks his thumb at his chest. “Noiz.”

“Oh?” Koujaku echoes with a smirk. “'Noiz', huh? You look more like a brat to me.”

Noiz points to the entrance unimpressed by Koujaku’s name drop. “Get out.”

Koujaku chuckles and Noiz finds he doesn’t dislike the sound of it. “I’m going, I’m going,” he says, facing forward. “See you tomorrow.”

“You make it sound like you’re coming to see me.”

The door barely moves forward but Koujaku stiffens. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffs. “Why would I want to see you?”

“You just admitted it, old man,” Noiz says. “Don’t tell me your hearing is starting to go bad.”

“Yeah, well, you’re wrong,” Koujaku says and makes a brisk exit.

“See you tomorrow,” Noiz calls after Koujaku mockingly and locks the door. He pulls back on the handle, confirming the locks were in place, and stays by the door as Koujaku’s figure heads down the sidewalk and disappears when he turns at the corner.

Just a teeny tiny part of him is looking forward to riling up the old man at work tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this turned out to be a longer chapter than I thought it'd be. I got tired of messing around with it that I figured I'd just post it already.

For some strange reason, Sei decides to assign someone else with Noiz’s usual shift. Accompanying him on his caffeine filled journey for the long dull night ahead is Clear. Whenever the two of them worked together in the same timeslot, Clear spent most of it trying to get a smile out of Noiz. So far, Clear hasn’t been very successful but he’s vowed that he wouldn’t be giving up anytime soon. Noiz doesn’t understand Clear’s fixation to spread his unbridled amount of joy to the people around him, especially when it wasn’t going to work on him.

As expected for the night, business is slow and they’re left with plenty of downtime. Outside the shop, dark rain clouds are beginning to form in the sky.

Clear looks up the weather report on his phone. “It looks like there’s going to be a big storm tonight,” he shows his screen to Noiz. Rain clouds with teary sad eyes and frowns block Noiz’s view from his laptop. “Hopefully, we won’t get soaked when it’s time to go home.”

“Isn’t it kind of redundant for rain clouds to have tears in their eyes?” Noiz mutters back. “Where’s your umbrella, anyway?”

“I must've misplaced it somewhere,” Clear smiles . . . because everyone smiles when they lose something.

Clear carried around his umbrella everywhere and, somehow, lost it? Whatever, he isn’t going to interrogate Clear about his sudden misplacement of his beloved protector from the rain.

Noiz scoots further away from Clear and resumes aimlessly searching through the web. He watches a few Youtube videos, looks up images of rabbits to update his wallpaper scheme, and deletes spam that’s been steadily collecting in his e-mail accounts. Clear hovers over his shoulder and excitedly points at whatever he finds interesting enough to jab his finger at the screen.

Soon enough, Noiz ditches his laptop to draw on napkins. He elbows Clear whenever he stands too close and unnecessarily compliments his apparently superb drawing skills. When he’s done drawing, Noiz pinches his wrists or digs his nails deep enough until he’s left small crescents on his skin.

Behind Noiz, Clear is pacing back and forth, humming along with a song playing on the sound system. Clear’s always singing. If it were anyone else, Noiz would find this to be an irritating trait – but Clear actually has a pleasant voice and Noiz doesn’t get a searing headache. It’s one of the few things Noiz lets go.

For the second half of the shift, Clear relieves Noiz of the cash register. He shows Noiz the updated weather report, which shows the rain clouds’ sobbing (Noiz doubts the website is very reliable).

Rain is pouring heavily outside. The muddled sky flashes briefly after every strike and clap of thunder. No one would trudge through this harsh weather for a cup of coffee – not even the old geezer. The _Cappuccino Princess’s_ drinks aren’t _that_ good. Noiz isn’t expecting anyone, so he gives up the register with no complains.

As the night stretches on, the sky is blanketed in an inky coal thickness and the rain is unrelenting. There aren’t any signs from Clear’s sketchy cartoony weather updates that the rainstorm is going to stop. It’s the right kind of harsh weather that Noiz would venture through without a second thought. Heavy raindrops engulfing his entire body, the pressure of water hitting him full force, his clothes and hair plastered onto him like a second pair of skin – it was refreshing . . . and kind of irritating to walk around with wet socks but it was mostly refreshing and the wet weather was much better compared to hot sticky summers.

The shop’s jingle goes off and Noiz glances up from his napkin covered in blue ink. A soaked Koujaku bustles in, dripping water everywhere. The old man’s hair sticks to his face and his jeans cling to show the exact shape of his legs. Noiz keeps his eyes on Koujaku, as he drags his pen over the napkin and slips up, marking the countertop. As Koujaku walks to the register, he slicks his hair back but keeps his hand pressed onto his right cheek.

“You must really love the _Cappuccino Princess_ to come in this weather, Koujaku!” Clear welcomes him warmly.

Surprise briefly flashes in Koujaku’s eyes – guess he hadn’t expected to see someone else behind the counter – but he masks it enough that only Noiz catches it. Koujaku returns Clear’s welcome with a warm one and as he orders he keeps his hand in place.

Noiz glances between them – how did they know each other? – there was a vague familiarity in the air that he couldn’t properly interpret. But Clear’s overly friendly with everyone, this is typical behavior from his co-worker. Noiz’s lips twist into a frown. Why should he care if the old man knows Clear? He clicks his pen and drops it in his apron pocket, slightly bemused by the needless thought.

“You’re soaked to the bone, Koujaku,” Clear points out the obvious. “You must be freezing. Take off your jacket! I’ll hang it up for you so it can dry. Let me get you a towel! I could make you something to warm you up. Do you want tea? It’ll be on the house, but oh, Sei wouldn’t like that – oh! There might be some blankets somewhere! Or I could –”

“It’s fine, Clear,” Koujaku assures Clear. There’s a slight quirk to his lips, he’s clearly amused by Clear’s antics. At least someone could find some enjoyment from Clear’s little charades. Noiz find them to be a bit much. “You don’t have to do all that for me. I’m happy with just getting my order.”

“At least let me take your jacket!” Clear insists. “You could catch a cold.”

Noiz rolls his eyes. “Who do you think is going to clear up your mess?” he motions at the trail of muddy footprints Kouaku had left behind him. “I guess this is typical behavior from an old man. The elderly always have to make things more difficult for the young.”

“Noiz, you –” Clear cuts himself off with a horrified gasp. “We shouldn’t speak to a customer like that!”

“That’s all right, Clear,” Koujaku says. The smile the old man gives to Clear greatly differs from the smug smirk he flashes at Noiz. “You know, the brat could learn a thing or two from you. Having someone with such a piss-poor attitude really isn’t good for business.”

“Did you say you needed a towel?” Noiz puts on a feigned polite voice. It makes Koujaku’s smile falter somewhat and his eyebrow twitches. He snatches a clean towel from a drawer and chucks it at Koujaku’s stupid arrogant face.

A distressed cry comes from Clear. “K-Koujaku!” he stretches his hands towards Koujaku in concern. Why someone would waste their concern on an old man, Noiz would never understand. Clear was a strange one, anyway.

Noiz’s head jerks up from the old man’s deep chuckle. Koujaku’s drying himself with the towel, taking extra care of his precious dark navy locks. When he catches Noiz looking, Koujaku drops the towel on the counter and – Noiz doesn’t have a chance to recover – vigorously shakes his hair out. Droplets of water splatter all over Noiz and Clear but Noiz gets the brunt of it.

Noiz shoves Koujaku back and hurls the towel back at Koujaku’s stupid grin. He uses his shirt sleeve to wipe water off his face. “Are you a dog now?”

Koujaku snickers, draping the towel over his shoulders. “You looked sleepy,” he says. “I just thought you needed a little pick-me-up.”

“Noiz looks better already!” Clear laughs along with Koujaku.

Jeez, it isn’t even that funny. Nothing the old man says or does is funny.

When Clear finally settles down, he picks up a cup from under the counter. “Let’s get started on Koujaku’s drink, I’m sure he’s waited long enough.” He gets a pen from his apron pocket and scribbles down Koujaku’s name.

“Wai -” Koujaku’s mouth is stuck, withholding the last letter, and he looks over at Noiz.

Noiz returns his look. _What are you looking at, old man?_

Koujaku closes his mouth, fixing a smile on and shakes his head. “Uh, never mind… thanks, Clear.” he says and takes a seat.    

“No problem,” Clear sings and hands the cup over to Noiz.

Noiz stares at Koujaku’s name in Clear’s neat handwriting. He discreetly crosses it out and replaces it with a much more fitting label, before he starts on the order. When he finishes, he tells Clear he’ll personally deliver it to their special customer himself. Clear’s grin is ecstatic. He’s a tad bit too excited over Noiz willingly volunteering to interact with a customer or even another human being.

“Okay,” Clear just about squeals. “I’ll be right here.”

“… and I’ll be over there,” Noiz says as he circles around the counter. He drops the paper cup onto the table, using just enough force that it nearly tips over.

“Watch it, brat,” Koujaku warns lightly, pressing his cheek onto his gloved hand. “You almost spilt the damn thing.”

“Who cares? Like you’re actually going to drink it all?” he quips snidely before heading back to the register.

Noiz drags a squeaky stool to where he’ll be standing for the rest of the night and plops down on it. He puts his elbow on the countertop, palming his cheek and openly looks at the old man.

Despite the bad weather, Koujaku went out of his way to drop by the coffee shop. There wasn’t any practical explanation for the other man’s behavior. Noiz couldn’t make any sense of it. Why would he do something as pointless as that? It isn’t like he came all this way to see him. That made even less sense. The old man was well aware that Aoba didn’t work so late yet he continues to come back during this shift. He hasn’t even mentioned Aoba recently . . . Koujaku seemed obsessed with him enough to keep asking about him? What had made him stop? Why did he stop?

He was overanalyzing things, focusing on things he could care less about. The natural thing to do would be to make fun of the old man’s current wet state but he couldn’t. He couldn’t time how fast it’d take for him to shout out a curse. Well, he could do all of those things but with an added party it wouldn’t feel as authentic. Not that he enjoyed spending time with the old man.

Speaking of a third party, Clear had been wearing a sly smile for the last several minutes.

“What are you smiling about?” Noiz snaps, growing irritated by Clear. He averts his stare away from the old man and glares at the tacky pattern on the counter.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Clear sings, still obnoxiously chirper despite the dreary weather. “Noiz?”

He cringes from the sing-song way Clear says as he drags his name out. “What?”

“Do you know Koujaku?”

“No.”

It isn’t a lie. He doesn’t know a single thing about the old man and he has no intention to either.

Clear keeps on smiling. “I’m going to go get a mop and bucket. Someone has to clean up Koujaku’s mess.”

As Clear sets off to fetch the aforementioned items, this leaves Noiz momentarily alone with the old man. Noiz gets a pen out and moves it back and forth over a napkin. A shapeless blue blob develops on the thin papery material before Noiz crumbles it into a tiny blue spotted ball and restarts with another napkin. A slowly growing batch of crumped paper balls are next to him.

Noiz rumples up another napkin and – an idea pops into his head, an idea involving some target practice. He throws a paper ball at Koujaku and misses by a lot. On Noiz’s second attempt, he gets a little closer but he’s still way off. Noiz shoves creamer or some sweeteners into the napkins, adding some weight, and that seems to do the trick because he’s hitting the back of Koujaku’s head after nearly every throw. Noiz turns away in time when Koujaku turns towards him. He looks as transfixed as possible with his cell phone.

The old man’s makes a bitch face when he looks around the shop. It’s kind of hard not to miss the napkins littering the floor – most of which were made of up Noiz’s failed attempts. Koujaku faces forward and thumbs at something on his cup. Noiz takes this as his cue to keep throwing crap at the old man. He’s getting better that he doesn’t miss anymore. He’s a total pro.

Koujaku finally snaps and gets up to throw everything back at him – he even goes out of his way to make some of his own ammunition. The old man downright sucks at aiming that Noiz doesn’t have to duck for cover. A firm scowl is set on Koujaku’s lips, but if he was actually pissed he would’ve left the shop a long time ago.

Noiz pauses in mid-throw at the startled cry. Clear’s back, brandishing a map and bucket, and he’s glancing at him and Koujaku but he seems to be more occupied by the mess they’ve made. Clear isn’t mad. Even with all the irritating customers they have to deal with on a daily basis, Noiz has never seen Clear get angry with anyone.

Clear’s shoulders sag and he heaves a sigh. “Who’s going to clean all of that up?”

“The old man started it,” Noiz says, quick to point the blame.

“He, the brat,” Koujaku’s at a loss of words, he reigns himself and sends Noiz a nasty glare. “Don’t worry about it, Clear. I’ll clean this up even if this wasn’t my fault.”

“I’d help but the floor needs to be taken care of first,” Clear says forlornly but then his face brightens and Noiz already knows he won’t like what he’ll say next. “I know! Noiz can help you!”

“The brat _should_ help,” Koujaku mumbles. “Considering this was his mess to begin with.”

The prior exhilaration Noiz feels fizzled away, faster than he would’ve liked, but he gets over it. What was he doing getting excited over throwing napkins at an old fart? He frowns and rubs at the back of his neck, insistently plucking at the piercing there. “I’ll do it myself. I don’t need any help.”

Noiz gets a trash bag and, at first, stays as far away from Koujaku as possible. The old man crouches in front of him, carrying an armful of paper balls. Koujaku works diligently, even for such a simple task. The old man’s eyes are half-lidded, his eyelashes barely fanning over his cheeks. Standing in the back of Koujaku, Clear’s smiling slyly at him, leaning against the handle of the mop.

Suddenly, it dawns on Noiz that his abnormally joyful co-worker would’ve gladly pitched in to lend a hand. Clear’s already done mopping the floor, he’s by the door and isn’t trying to be sneaky that he’s watching Noiz and the old man as if they were zoo animals.

Slightly unnerved by Clear, Noiz turns away from Koujaku and brings the bag with him as the old man’s emptying his armful of napkins.

“Hey, get back here,” Koujaku hisses, half-heartedly lobbing a napkin at the side of Noiz’s head. He snatches the bag out of his hands, putting away the last of the trash, and gets to his feet. "I'll throw it out. The dumpsters are in the back, right?"

Noiz snatches the bag back from him and leaves without a word. On his way out to the back, Sei's office is open wide enough that he can see him messing around with his tablet. Sei hardly slips out of his office, unless it's absolutely necessary. Noiz rarely sees his boss, but when he does, their interactions are kept short and to the point -- Sei was busy taking care of his precious coffee shop and couldn't afford to have distractions for himself or his staff. Though, there aren't really many distractions around when there were never any customers in the first place.

Without looking away from his work, Sei asks. "Are you throwing something away, Noiz?"

"Yeah," Noiz replies. "It won't take long."

"It's raining pretty hard," Sei says. "You and Clear can leave if you want."

"Its fine, I can stay."

"Well, it's your choice," Sei says.

"I guess."

Opening the backdoor, Noiz is greeted with rain fiercely pouring down. Stepping onto the ground is like quicksand. After every step he takes, his shoes are being sucked down into the mud. He's in and out, hurling the trash bag into one of the dumpsters, and quickly back inside. The rain hadn't gotten him too badly. Noiz shakes his hair, absently combing his short blond locks, and heads back to the front of the shop.

Koujaku's already back at his table, his fingers steepled in front of him. His cup is still on the table and it's already past his usual time, but with the crappy weather Noiz supposes he wouldn't exactly be in a rush to go back into the rainstorm. Noiz trots back to his working station and gets back onto his laptop -- the internet would be his best choice and he logs onto a forum, where he occasionally beta tests games. He has two notifications to try out some new games. There's a visual novel that has teaser images of a busty girl wearing cat ears and a first person shooter, which has poor graphics and a boring storyline . . . but he'd get to shoot things and there was plenty of needless violence to make up for other lacking areas.

Clear fiddles with his cell phone and invades Noiz's personal space with how close he stands next to him. "Are you _sure_ you don't know Koujaku?"

"I don't."

"Well, Koujaku and I are friends," Clear informs him. For some reason, he lowers his voice and whispers. "If you like, I could tell you all about him."

Noiz knits his eyebrows. "Why would you do that?"

"So Noiz and Koujaku can be friends!"

"I'm good," Noiz grunts and resumes stabbing a virtual enemy to pieces.

* * *

Noiz isn't exactly sure when the rain starts letting up, but the weather is the least of Noiz's concern. He had finished the game in a short amount of time. He's typing gibberish again but he can't block out Clear talking to the old man. On one hand, Clear isn't badgering him anymore which is a very good thing. But on the other, there's a twitch in his jaw that he gets whenever he hears them laughing.

"Noiz, why don't you join us?" Clear suggests, waving him over.

He declines with a tight scowl.

Clear's persistence makes him leave Koujaku's side to stand in front of the counter. "Come on, Noiz," he urges. "Please, talk to us?"

"What's in it for me?"

"Just leave him alone, Clear," Koujaku butts in. Noiz's frown deepens. "If he doesn't want to hang out with the cool kids, we can't make him."

Noiz snorts. "Aren't you a little past your prime to be able to call yourself a 'kid'?" he glances up to give Koujaku a smirk, but the light scratching from the door stops him.

A large pale blue umbrella is the cause of the scratching, as it tries to push through the entrance. The chime goes off and wind rustles the umbrella, jerking it upwards and revealing Aoba standing underneath it. Aoba pulls his hood down, falling back onto the door to keep any more water or wind from getting in. He flicks his bangs out of his eyes and, naturally, the first person he sees if the old man. Witnessing Aoba's smile firsthand, Koujaku perks up in his seat like an excited puppy -- he motions Aoba to join him but Clear interrupts and tugs Aoba forward for a hug.

“Master!” Clear beams brightly.

“Clear?” Aoba says, returning the hug with a slight laugh. “It's raining pretty hard! Pretty bad timing to lose your umbrella."

"I know," Clear says, smiling sheepishly. "I'm still looking for it."

"If I knew you were working tonight, I would've brought you one, too," Aoba brandishes an extra umbrella from his messenger bag, as if to show he had actual proof to back-up his words.

Koujaku's intently watching the exchange between Aoba and Clear. Noiz wonders if he’s trying to be nonchalant about it, but really, he’s just being obvious.

“No worries, Master!” Clear replies cheerfully. “We can always share an umbrella together!”

“… Aoba?” a voice calls out and Sei strolls out of the hallway and into the shop. He didn’t think they were being loud enough to have Sei step out of his office to check what the problem was. He’s cradling his tablet like a newborn and uses his index finger to press at his screen. “What are you doing here? You’re not scheduled to work today.”

“I’m aware of that, _boss_ ,” Aoba says and walks over to Sei to take his tablet away from him. “Since I know you didn’t listen to the weather forecast today, I came to give you an umbrella. Granny would go nuts if you came home soaked and ended up getting a cold _again_.”

Aoba and Sei _lived_ together?

Noiz furtively looks from Aoba to Sei and then back again. Just what kind of relationship did those two have – the baker and the owner? Did Aoba bake him barely decent cookies and have Sei decorated their shared bedroom with stuffed animals and mountains of candy? Then, there’s this Granny person or thing. Or was “Granny” a code for something, a dirty something? Noiz suppresses a shudder. He doesn't like where that train of thought is taking him.

“Please, I wasn’t soaked,” Sei clarifies. “And it wasn’t a cold. I just had a bad cough. I get those sometimes.”

“You were dripping all over the carpet! You got water _everywhere!_ And it was a cold! Did you forget the runny nose, the fever, and the chicken soup that had to be homemade or –” Aoba keeps Sei’s tablet out of his reach. “No way, you’re not getting this back. You’re not allowed to pull anymore all-nighters. Got it?”

Sei rolls his eyes and grabs the umbrella Aoba dangles in front of him. “I won’t. You can stop being such a worrywart.”

“I’m not the one worrying,” Aoba denies, puffing his cheeks. “It’s Granny’s wrath you’ll have to deal with.”

“You always worry about me, Aoba,” Sei leans forward to plant a kiss on Aoba’s cheek and then proceeds to ruffle his hair. They exchange a glance. It’s an almost intimate look, as if they were the only two people in the world.

So the baker and the owner had _that_ kind of relationship.

Noiz freezes at the loud thud which alerts him, or well all of them, to Koujaku who had gracelessly fallen out of his chair. The old man hops back to his feet, his face beet red, and exits the shop after he excuses himself.

“Oh no, this isn’t good!” Clear gasps, he bits his bottom lip and looks genuinely worried about the old man. Noiz’s presses his fingers into his jaw as he feels another twitch. “Koujaku left without finishing his drink! Should I go after him?”

His arm flops down to his side and he questions Clear’s sanity.

“No, don’t worry about it. It’s not the end of the world, Clear,” Aoba laughs. “Koujaku can always just get another drink.” He places his hand on his hip and, as an afterthought, adds. “I’m surprised he has time to come to the coffee shop. Koujaku’s always telling me how busy he is.”

Clear nods along while Aoba speaks, like a dog obediently agreeing with their master’s actions. "That's true!"

Noiz digs into his nails into his apron. Did the old man lie to him about knowing Aoba? Pretending that he didn’t know his name, putting on some stupid act, and then ruining his shift with his stupid asshole self – all for what? But Koujaku hadn’t mentioned his association with Aoba . . . and he hadn’t asked.

He slides his hands down his thighs and grips at the material of his jeans. The old man’s business was his and his alone. He wouldn’t barge in, as if he was even curious to know anything about him.

“Hey,” Aoba says, walking over to Noiz with a smile. The smile only lasts about a few seconds before it twists into a scowl. He’s squinting at Noiz’s nametag. “ _Hey!_ I told you to stop stealing my apron from my locker! You have your own to use.”

“Ah, this is yours? I didn’t notice,” Noiz mumbles, he tugs at the apron’s green strap. “My bad.”

“I’m sure, you little brat. Just put it back where it belongs when you leave,” Aoba says and he looks back to his lover, boyfriend, boss, or whatever Sei was. “Anyway, we better get going Sei. Granny has dinner waiting and I told her we’d be back before it got cold.”

“Dinner with Master?” Clear sighs dreamily. “That sounds wonderful!”

“I guess Granny could set up another plate,” Aoba says before he frowns. “Wait. Clear, you can’t just take off in the middle of your shift. What about Noiz?”

“I don’t mind,” Noiz remains stoic as he gains everyone’s attention. He shrugs. “I can close up.”

Sei seems to ponder over his decision, as if he hadn’t let Noiz lock up several times, before he shrugs. “All right, that’s fine.”

“What?” Aoba shoots Sei a betrayed look. “You trust Noiz to close up but not me?”

“Noiz is responsible,” Sei says. “Besides, you don’t like staying at the shop late, remember?’

Aoba lets out a short bark of laughter. “That brat’s more responsible than me? I highly doubt that.”

“We better get going, Aoba. We don’t want to keep Granny waiting,” Sei tosses Clear his umbrella. “You lost yours, right? I’ll just share with Aoba.”

Clear catches it. “But I wanted to share with Master!” he whines.

“Aren’t you going to change Clear?” Aoba asks.

Clear looks down at his work clothes and smiles sheepishly. “You’re right. I’ll go change,” he says. “Don’t leave without me!”

“I need to go grab a few things from my office,” Sei says and gets his tablet back from Aoba. He gingerly cradles it like a newborn.

Aoba goes around the counter to plop down a stool, while he waits for the others. “So, Noiz,” he drawls, already launching into some small talk. “How do you like working here so far?”

“I’m still working here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Aoba huffs. “I meant like, do you, I don’t know, you always look so bored. I thought you would’ve quit by now.”

Noiz shrugs. The job is boring but it’s not so bad that he’d quit already. If he did that, he’d be holed up in his apartment being bored which wasn’t much of an improvement.

“Well, if you’re going to be staying with us I really think you should stop going through our lockers,” Aoba says. “It’s an invasion of privacy and –”

Fortunately, Noiz is saved from the rest of Aoba’s lecture when Sei and Clear return carrying their things. Sei hands Noiz the keys and tells him the rundown of what he should do when he’s closing up. He already knows these things, it isn’t the first time he’s closed the shop, but he nods at Sei and, soon enough, they’re saying their goodbyes and walking out into the rain.

Noiz begins to put things away, starting with the mop and bucket Clear had forgotten to put back in the supply closet. Sei had closed his office. He would’ve never guessed there was something going on between Sei and Aoba. It sort of made sense why Aoba was always assigned to the kitchen, despite his abysmal baking skills. It was easier to slip into Sei’s office for “private meetings” that way.

Not long after everyone had left, the door opens and Koujaku trudges into the shop, sopping wet. He slumps down into his seat, as if he’d been struck and couldn’t stay on his feet. Noiz stays by the trash bin, gazing at through the glass walls, but he can’t stop looking over at the old man. Frowning, Noiz gets the leftover pastries and such from the display case and shoves them all into one paper bag. Usually, he’d bring them home to stash in his fridge for later or when there was nothing else to eat. Instead, he drops the bag on the table and plops down onto the opposite chair, automatically taking out his phone to show he was being casual about things.

Koujaku’s dripping wet hair is brushed back so Noiz has a clear view of his entire face. He has a tattoo on his cheek, a strange design and, as if Koujaku remembers himself, he quickly covers it up.

“I… forgot to finish my drink,” Koujaku says miserably, holding his cup up in a mocking toast before downing the rest of it.

The old man’s cup has been sitting out for a while now. Noiz didn’t have to like caffeine to know that some drinks tasted better when they were still warm, but Koujaku doesn’t seem to care. From what little he knows about the old man, he hasn’t ever seen the old man look so defeated. Typically, Noiz enjoyed basking in another person’s misery, but Koujaku’s so pathetic that he can’t find any enjoyment out of this situation. If anything, it bothers him when it shouldn’t be affecting him at all. Why should he care how the old man is feeling?

Koujaku holds the empty cup in both hands. Noiz isn’t sure if the old man’s aware of it or not, but he’s thumbing at what he’d written on the cup. At such a small thing, something weird settles low in his stomach and Noiz fidgets in his seat, puzzled on where this random bout of arousal came from. He watches the old man suffer for a bit before he finally has enough of it. Cold coffee wouldn’t do. The old man needed something much stronger than caffeine to get over this slump.

“Want to drink?” he asks, without looking up.

“Huh?”

“Want. To. Drink,” Noiz repeats slowly, emphasizing each word. “At a bar. With alcohol.”

“I know what a bar is,” Koujaku grumbles.

Noiz brings his phone to his lap, just to gauge the old man’s reaction, and it looks like he’s considering his offer. “I don’t know,” he pauses. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Old enough to drink with an old man.”

Koujaku scowls.

Noiz rolls his eyes. “Old enough not to get caught.”

“Now, wait a –”

“I’m closing up now. Wait for me out front. Or don’t. I don’t care either way.”

Koujaku sputters a protest but it’s weak and lacks anything to back it up. His shoulders drop and he nods, neither confirming nor denying if he’d go with him. Noiz stays seated as Koujaku stands and walks to the door, then starts to go through cleaning and locking things up. When he finishes looking things over, he gives everything another look through just in case. He hesitates to check if the old man is waiting for him. It shouldn’t matter if he did. He would’ve gone to a bar regardless if he had company.

Seeing the old man at the front, keeping close to the shop to avoid the rain - Noiz lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

* * *

The bar isn’t one Noiz normally frequents but Koujaku, on the other hand, appears to be a regular. They breeze past the line wrapped around the building, heading directly to where a crowd has gathered. The bouncer at the door simply nods at Koujaku, lifting the thin red velvet rope to let them in. Once they were inside, a bartender eagerly waves Koujaku over to the bar. In return, Koujaku lifts his hand in silent greeting. The bartender cocks his head, as if he’d just received some sort of message from the old man, and then resumes making drinks.

Noiz follows Koujaku as he takes them to the back. Booths are lined up against the wall, portioned away from the blaring music and the dance floor, where a sea of bodies are wildly grinding against each other. They slip into a private booth that's almost tucked away, like a secret compartment.

Koujaku must’ve noticed Noiz’s slight change in expression. “I prefer to have a little privacy sometimes,” is Koujaku’s short-lipped answer.

“Privacy from what?” was what Noiz had quipped back. “Jacking off?”

It was either that or Koujaku wanted to save face while he was getting plastered.

The old man must've been emotionally drained. He didn't shoot back a retort or give Noiz a dirty look for his smart-ass remark. Finding out about Aoba and Sei must've taken a lot more out of him than he thought.

They sit in silence. The only thing keeping them company is the pounding music.

Koujaku stares blankly at nothing, his shoulders slumped and his chest expanding after every sigh. Noiz rolls the piercing in his hands. Then, he grabs one of the menus thrown under the table. The bar has a large selection of alcohol available, the drinks are a bit pricey (not that that's a problem for Noiz) and are labeled with long titles that make little to no sense.

Suddenly, the curtain parts and the bartender from earlier pops in. The white teardrop on the bartender's tanned skin moves slightly when a grin takes up his face – he seems to be on familiar terms with Koujaku from the way his eyes light up – and he hands Koujaku a large bottle of sake and a small drinking cup. When the bartender realizes Koujaku has company, his gleam lessens and he skims over Noiz as if deeming him worthy to be in Koujaku's presence.

Noiz drops the menu on the table and points at a few drinks, he speaks fast and makes a fuss over the bartender not writing anything down - basically aiming to be the biggest asshole possible. When the teardrop bartender returns, he gives Noiz a tray filled with shot glasses each holding a brightly colored drink.

He starts off with a neon drink that has little flecks of something yellow floating on the surface. It's a combination of things, going from really sour to super sweet, and the aftertaste is slightly pleasant. As Noiz carefully tastes each drink, Koujaku's knocking back sake like he hasn't had anything to drink for ages. It's not long before the old man is swaying, wearing a dopy grin with flushes cheeks and half-lidded eyes.

Koujaku cradles the bottle protectively, sliding down on the couch. He may or may not have taken a picture to save for blackmail. Noiz's body is thrumming with a nice buzz and he's wrapped in a comfortable warmth.

Aoba's name falls from Koujaku's lip in a slurred mantra. He spews the typical woe-is-me crap and it gets old pretty fast.

“Old man,” Noiz grunts, nudging Koujaku's leg with his shoe. Koujaku lifts his head up to look at him. “Why did you want to see him?”

“It’s kind of a... stupid reason.”

Noiz waits for Koujaku's answer. There had to be some logical reason that drove Koujaku to keep coming back on the slight chance he'd see Aoba.

“I wanted to, um,” Koujaku fumbles with his arms and almost knocks the bottle over. “Cut his hair.”

“That’s not stupid,” he says and Koujaku relaxes slightly next to him, relieved. “That’s creepy. I knew you were a freak.”

Koujaku sputters. “T-That’s not –”

“Did you want to keep a lock of his hair? Were you going to keep it in a box with your other Aoba treasures?”

Koujaku grabs Noiz by his shirt, glaring at him. “Listen, brat, I’m not some freak,” he snarls. “I’m a hairstylist! I opened up my own hair salon and everything!” at Noiz’s unconvinced expression, he takes out his wallet and pulls out a card. “Here’s my business card. See?”

Noiz spares a brief glance at the card shoved into his face. “ _Fake._ ”

“Who cares what you think?” Koujaku seethes. He crumbles his card in his hand. When he realizes what he's done, he sighs and smoothes it back out before dejectedly slipping it back into his wallet. "You're just a rotten brat."

Noiz shrugs indifferently.

"Anyway," Koujaku continues stiffly. "One day I saw him working at the coffee shop and I’ve never seen a man with such… nice hair. I just. I wanted to ask him but it’d be kind of weird if a stranger came up to you and asked to cut your hair. So I wanted to be friends first.”

“Since friends cut each other’s hair all the time?”

“It’s not like I only know Aoba from the coffee shop,” Koujaku talks over Noiz’s snappy comment. “Sometimes, I’m a guest lecturer at the college he goes to. I’ve seen him walk around campus a few times.”

“I’ve never seen you on campus,” Noiz points out suspiciously. “Are you really telling the truth? Who wants to get a lecture from a perverted hairstylist?”

“A lot of people do! And I'm not a pervert!" at Noiz's smirk, Koujaku fumes and indignantly crosses his arms over his chest. "I don’t have to prove myself to a brat like you!”

Again, Noiz shrugs and sips at his drink.

“I didn’t think anything would happen. I've always liked women,” he sighs. “But whenever I saw him things just… became something else entirely,” he holds his face in his hands. “I don’t know how to explain it! Aoba’s a good kid.”

“Too bad for you,” Noiz says dully. “He’s with someone else.”

“Is that supposed to comfort me?”

“Who said I was going to comfort you?”

Koujaku narrows his eyes. “Isn’t that why we’re here, brat?”

“I just wanted to drink,” Noiz says. “Not talk about feelings.”

“What am I your chaperone?”

“You’re old enough to be one.”

“You little shit, I can’t believe I,” Koujaku stops midsentence, gritting his teeth. “Forget it. I need more alcohol. That’s what I need, some actual _comfort_.”

The sake cup falls over the side of the table and breaks on the floor. To that, Koujaku shrugs and tips the rest of the bottle back, as he lets his body sag further down the couch. Noiz rakes over the older man's body. Without his jacket on, he's wearing a plain buttoned down shirt - most of his buttons are undone, showing enough of his chest that Noiz can see a hint of tattoos peeking out. Koujaku stretches over the cushions, spreading his legs apart. He looks inviting, as if he's asking to be touched. The vulnerable expression written on his face isn't something Noiz is attracted to . . . but the old man is doing something weird. Or the alcohol is making everything seem a lot nicer.

Noiz isn't blind. He's well aware of how attractive the old man is, whether he chooses to acknowledge that fact is entirely up to him. He isn’t desperate enough for sex that he’d take advantage of Koujaku – he could easily find someone else to get what he needed. In fact, he’d do just that. Staying with old man and listening to him bitch about Aoba wasn’t going to get him anything. He stands, going to the curtain to exit the booth, but a hand catches his wrist.

“Where are you going?” Koujaku asks.

“Nowhere,” Noiz scoffs. If anything, he could probably rope someone into giving him a blowjob in a bathroom stall. “I’ll… be back.” He doesn’t owe Koujaku an explanation, if he wanted to leave the old man here he damn well could.

Koujaku frowns. “Don’t take too long.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Koujaku says.

“… Because why?”

“Just go,” he mutters.

He looks, really looks, at the old man and as easy as it would be to walk into the bar to find someone else – Noiz climbs over Koujaku, hovering dangerously close to his flushed face - he doesn't want someone else.

“… brat?”

Noiz seals their lips together in a messy kiss, hungrily ravishing the other man’s mouth. It’s been so long since he’s kissed someone. The old man’s mouth is hot. Everything is all well and good until Koujaku stiffens and shoves him away.

“W-what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Doing what you asked,” Noiz says. “I’m comforting you.”

“I didn't mean that kind of comfort!"

"… this is how I comfort people."

"But,” Koujaku wheezes with wide eyes. “We’re… both guys.”

Noiz stares at the old man. "I hadn't noticed," he says flatly.

“What I meant was,” Koujaku rephrases slowly. “We shouldn’t do this for… a lot of reasons,” his lips curl up slightly, the threatening hint of a smile that won’t fully form. “You dislike me, don't you?”

"You don't have to like someone to have sex with them."

He returns Koujaku’s wide eyed gape unblinkingly, keeping his face unreadable as he yanks him up for another kiss. Noiz hears a muffled protest, smothered down as he presses insistently forward. Koujaku grasps Noiz’s shirt, fisting handfuls of fabric. He expects to be pushed away again but Koujaku urges him closer and parts his mouth under his. Koujaku releases his shirt, skimming his hands up to hold the back of his head, sinking his nails into Noiz’s scalp. The old man responds in vigor, nearly melding their faces together with how hard he presses against Noiz’s mouth.

Noiz slides his hands under Koujaku’s hanging shirt, his fingerstips ghosting over the expanse of his bare chest. His nails rake down on tattooed and scarred flesh, his eyes twinkling in delight at the red marks he leaves in his wake. Noiz drags his nails back up to twist a nipple. Koujaku exhales through his nose, as he twists up and arches into his touch. Noiz nudges Koujaku’s legs asides so he can settle between them. He crowds his space, practically shoving him against the cushions and straddles the older man. Noiz grinds down on Koujaku’s groin, pulling away to hear Koujaku desperately gulping for air. He latches his mouth onto Koujaku’s neck, sucking harshly at the patch of skin he takes between his teeth.

He’s straining in his pants and from the obvious tent in Koujaku's pants, the old man's not doing any better. They’re wearing too many clothes for this. Noiz laps at the dark red splotch he’d left on Koujaku, he pushes his shirt away tweaking pert nipples, and watches in fascination at the way Koujaku shudders from every twist and pull. Noiz’s eyes are locked on Koujaku’s inviting red lips. He wants to bite into his bottom lip, split it open until blood oozes on his tongue and red is smeared over his chin. Noiz’s dick twitches at the thought. He leans down to do just that but Koujaku leans back, his mouth out of reach.

Unfazed by Koujaku’s rejection, Noiz swiftly closes the distance between them only to be stopped by Koujaku’s palm slapping over his face. “Would you quit attacking me for one second?”

“What?” Noiz hisses. “Are you having problems keeping it up?”

Koujaku shoves him off and he tumbles off the couch. Noiz grunts and glances up at the old man with a disgruntled scowl. The old man sits up, adjusting his shirt with trembling hands. He’s not very successful with buttoning up his shirt. The alcohol and the adrenaline rush must’ve factored to Koujaku’s unease. After failing to button up the last four buttons, he gives up with an annoyed huff.

“My apartment isn’t far from here,” Koujaku announces as he pulls on his jacket.

"We’re not doing it here?”

Koujaku shoots Noiz a deadpan look. “No. Not here. Would you get off the floor?” He holds his hand out to Noiz, who stares at the proffered hand – Koujaku suddenly seems sober as he stares at him – before accepting it. "Nothing's going to happen, brat."

"Then why are we going to your apartment?" Noiz asks snidely.

"Because I said so!" 

In a hurry, the two leave the bar on unsteady feet, though Koujaku is the one worse off. Getting drenched in the rain, they lean against each other and rush over to Koujaku’s apartment. 

* * *

He hasn’t given a blowjob in weeks, but it all comes rushing back to Noiz once he really gets going. The old man’s bigger than he’s used to having in his mouth. Having a dick this big shoved inside him makes his cock twitch impatiently. Noiz relishes how his throat constricts around Koujaku whenever he thrusts up too fast, too rough, and continually hits the back of his throat. Most of his length is resting on Noiz’s tongue, Koujaku’s deep down his mouth that his pubic hair tickles his nose, and the distinct scent of the old man invades his nostrils. Tears prickle his eyes, blurring his vision, as he gags nosily. Koujaku nudges him until he has to reluctantly ease off his cock.

His fingers are knuckle deep inside the old man as he sucks him off. He moves viciously, scissoring him in and out, endlessly teasing his impossibly tight hole. The amount of time and effort it took to slip in one slick finger was a pain. Despite the alcohol pumping through Koujaku’s veins, he panicked at the foreign object poking at him. Noiz lost count of how many times he’d told the old man to relax.

“It’s kind of like taking a dump but it’s stuck there,” was what Noiz had told him when Koujaku had asked him what it felt like.

“How the fuck will that make me relax!?” was what Koujaku had shouted.

When he was finally able to get two fingers past, he crooked his fingers just so and hit the right spot and it was worth all of the old man’s bitching just to be able to witness the old man fall apart beneath him. The desperate guttural moans he draws out from Koujaku egg him to go faster. Noiz slurps loudly at his dick, easing off to trail his tongue and piercings along the length of his cock. A large majority of Noiz’s past flings enjoyed his piercings and Koujaku seems to fall under that majority. Koujaku’s hips lift off the mattress and his volume increases like a porn star.

Noiz circles his tongue around the tip, swiping off the pre-come gathering at the slit. “So loud,” he mumbles, his words muffled from his mouthful of Koujaku’s cock.

“D-Don’t talk with me –”

He does something with his tongue, effectively cutting Koujaku off. Koujaku grips Noiz’s hair, clenching his eyes shut and the old man clamps down on his fingers. Those tiny signs are all Noiz needs to know that Koujaku’s close. Noiz pulls off his dick with an audible pop and grins at Koujaku’s frustrated groan. He shifts away from him, coating his fingers with lube and spreading his legs. Noiz prefers going dry but, of course, he should’ve known Koujaku would prefer to do things “properly”. He prepares himself quickly, doing enough that he’s somewhat loosened and is able to steadily thrust two fingers.

Koujaku watches on with wide eyes and parted lips. He reaches for his dick but Noiz slaps his hand away, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

“You’re acting like this is your first time touching yourself.”

“Weren’t you -” Koujaku stops. He swallows thickly, blinking rapidly. “You’re not going to…” he trails off awkwardly.

“What?”

“It’s...” Koujaku squirms under Noiz's steely stare. “Forget it. I'm drunk. I don't know what I'm thinking. Or doing.”

Noiz’s eyebrows furrow. The old man was going to act weird about things now? But then it clicks. “You want me to put it in you?” he asks. “Fuck that dusty hole?”

Koujaku face scrunches up. “Do you have to say it so crudely?”

It hasn’t occurred to Noiz that the old man might want to be the one getting fucked. Or that he was even remotely interested in having something bigger than fingers inserted in his ass. Visually, the idea is certainly appealing. Having the old man pinned down on the bed, face down and his wrists bound behind him – he’d have no choice but to take each one of his violent thrusts. He could really wreck him, make him forget about his obsession on a certain blue haired individual. But as pleasing as the image is, it’s been awhile since Noiz has had anything inside him and fingers just weren’t cutting it.

Still, he teases Koujaku just because he can. “I didn’t know you were so eager for it.”

“You were the one who shoved your stupid fingers up my --” Koujaku shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Next time,” Noiz says.

It almost sounds like a promise.

His fingers stop stretching him open. _Next time?_ What the hell compelled him to say something weird like that? Those two words echo in his head. Would there even be a next time? These kinds of things were a one-time deal. Noiz shakes the pesky thought away. Now isn’t the time for that. They’re talking way too much. There would be plenty of other times to throw verbal jabs at each other.

_Other times? What the fuck?_

He should’ve drunken more. He didn’t drink enough. He wasn’t drunk enough for this. His thoughts were constructing such nonsensical things that they’re destroying his libido.

As Noiz positions himself above Koujaku’s cock, Koujaku suddenly holds onto his hips. “I’ve got condoms on my nightstand.”

“You’ll come right when I snap it on you,” Noiz says. “I barely had my fingers in you and you were already about to shoot your load.”

“Just hurry up and grab one so we can get this over with.”

Noiz roll his eyes but, nevertheless complies. He rips the wrapper open with his teeth, tosses the trash behind him, and rolls the condom over Koujaku. “Happy, old man?” he drawls. “There won’t be any unplanned pregnancies tonight.”

He braces himself on Koujaku’s shoulders and grits his teeth as he takes him in inch by inch. The familiar burn is something Noiz welcomes with a small sigh. He’s getting so stretched out, the size of the old man’s erection just right. Koujaku is oddly silent, his fingers press into his hip and his eyebrows are pinched together. The room is dark that he can’t make out whatever face Koujaku’s making. Once he’s all the way in, Noiz waste no time, he works fast bouncing frantically on the old man’s lap. Noiz stabs his nails into Koujaku’s shoulder blades, digging so hard he draws blood and smudges it over Koujaku’s skin.

A pained grunt is all Noiz hears from the old man. No complaints. Koujaku swipes his tongue on his chin before bringing him down to meet his lips. The metallic taste mingling from their tongues entwining, Noiz faintly wonders who cut themselves and he realizes he’s split his lip from how hard he’d bitten into it. Noiz ends their lip-lock, shoving Koujaku down while he rides him.

He pushes at Koujaku’s collarbone, closing his eyes as warmth fills him. Of course, the old man would come first. Koujaku’s breath hitches, his eyelids flutter, he grips onto Noiz’s thighs and gasps quietly. Noiz is coming not long after, painting Koujaku’s inked chest in messy white strings.

Noiz lifts off of Koujaku’s softening cock and flops down next to him.

“Brat,” Koujaku says breathlessly, almost oddly . . . affectionate.

"... tired," he mumbles and closes his eyes.

The old man falls asleep before him. Noiz turns slightly, staring at Koujaku, before he soon joins him. 

* * *

The alarm clock on Koujaku’s nightstand tells Noiz that several hours have passed. Noiz gives himself some time to adjust to the darkness. He half-listens to Koujaku sleeping softly next to him. Sighing, Noiz stretches his legs out on the bed and idly scratches at an itch on his stomach. Now that he’s up, he might as well get his things together and leave.

“Going somewhere brat?”

Noiz halts, looking behind him to see Koujaku’s eyes on him. “Yeah.”

“It’s three in the morning,” Koujaku grumbles, his voice gruff from disuse. “You can stay. I’m not that much of a jerk that I’d kick you out.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Noiz says. “I’m leaving.”

“If that’s what you want.”

He doesn't put up much of a fight to convince Noiz to stay but Noiz isn't getting off the bed. He'll stay for a few minutes, just to get his body ready for the walk back home.

“Are you always this nice with a hangover?”

Kouajku snorts and rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I didn’t get that trashed.”

“So, I’m not just another nameless fuck? Wow, I didn't think I'd get so lucky," Noiz says. "A man at your age must be glad that your memory hasn’t quite left you yet.”

“Shut up.”

“… old man.”

“Yeah?”

Noiz isn’t sure how it happens. He should be on his way out but instead he’s kissing Koujaku. The old man reciprocates eagerly, tugging Noiz onto his lap, and winding his arms lowly around Noiz’s waist. Koujaku’s length is pressing on his backside and he rubs down against it, dragging out a low groan from Koujaku. There aren’t any clothes stopping them. Noiz can feel everything and he knows the old man can feel it too.

He gets it now. Why Koujaku said he could stay. It always boils down to the same three things: someone looking for a fight, money, and sex. Noiz craves each of those things and Koujaku isn’t any different. He certainly wouldn’t turn down a chance for more sex.

“Too lazy to take care of that yourself, old man?”

"Isn’t that what kids are for?” a second later, Koujaku makes a little strangled noise. Partly from Noiz grinding harder onto his dick and belatedly realizing what he’s just said. “I-I mean –”

Noiz tangles his fingers into Koujaku’s hair, dipping his head back, and licks across his neck. “What a perverted old man.”

“Brat, I didn’t –” Koujaku stops, swallowing. He gets Noiz off of his lap. “We don’t have to do that. It’s not like this is my first time getting morning wood.”

Noiz’s eyebrows furrows, he doesn’t comprehend what Koujaku’s playing at and why he’s throwing him off. He _didn’t_ want to have sex?

“What else is there to do?” Noiz counters. “Should I comb your hair? Do you want me to braid it? Should I fetch the morning fucking paper?”

“There are lots of things to do,” Koujaku says. “But at three in the morning, we could just go back to sleep.”

“Sleep?” he laughs wryly. “I can sleep at home.”

“Jeez, would it kill you to stay the night? It’s late and you can go back to your place at a reasonable hour,” Koujaku lays back down, turning to his side as if to say the conversation is over.

Noiz glares at Koujaku’s backside. “You’re not a man,” he mumbles. “What kind of man would turn down sex?”

“A tired man.”

“More like an old man. Shouldn’t you be taking advantage of every hard-on you can get? You’ll never know when you’ll get your next one.”

“Fuck off.”

Noiz stays silent, before he shifts and spoons Koujaku.

Koujaku snorts. “I didn’t take you for a cuddler.”

“I’m not.”

He rubs his cock against Koujaku’s ass, letting him know he isn’t the only one waking up with a little problem. His cock stirs soon enough, it’s an insistent warm pressure on the old man’s ass and Noiz knows the old man can’t keep ignoring him. Koujaku scoots away from him but Noiz follows after him, winding his arm around him to take hold of him. He jacks Koujaku off and he inhales and exhales, steadying his breathing and he’s trying to be quiet but he’s failing and Noiz goes a smidge faster to wring that moan out. Koujaku pants, grips onto Noiz’s forearm. His legs shaking and Noiz licks the sweat beading in the spot between his shoulder blades.

Noiz ruts onto Koujaku’s back, spreading pre-cum. He tucks himself tightly behind the old man, placing his chin on his shoulder as he works him off in quick rough strokes.

“H-Hold on,” Koujaku moans weakly. “Wait.”

“You’re about to blow,” Noiz chuckles. “Just come already.”

“Shut up.”

But Koujaku ducks his head, biting at his knuckles to drown out his noise as his body curls slightly and he comes. Noiz’s dick is sandwiched between their flushed bodies, he presses his mouth into Koujaku’s shoulder and bites down as he follows after the old man. Noiz licks at his bite, suckling at the skin. Koujaku’s softening dick is still in his hand and he squeezes it that the old man hisses and swats at him to let go.

“… I can get it back up in a few minutes,” Noiz says and lifts himself off Koujaku’s back to admire the mess he’s made.

“Are you kidding me?” Koujaku huffs irritably and he’s reaching over the side of the mattress to get something – a box of tissues and then he’s wiping himself off. “I’m fucking tired. I’m going to sleep.”

“Lacking in stamina,” Noiz comments and his spent dick twitches as he wraps himself in a loose fist. “Can I come on your back?”

“You _already_ did, asshole,” he grunts. “Your dick is not going anywhere near me. If you want to jerk it off some more do it in the bathroom or something.”

“How about I finger you while I do it? It’ll help you get used to it.”

“I’m sleeping now,” Koujaku practically growls. “So stop talking.”

Koujaku doesn’t go to sleep.

Though it takes some convincing, Noiz ends up thrusting his dick between Koujaku's thighs, while Koujaku's desperately touching himself. They don't last very long and it's hot and messy and enough that Noiz is content for now. Koujaku gets up to open the window. A gentle early morning breeze rolls in and he lights up a cigarette. After every drag, Koujaku expels the smoke from his nostrils and gazes at something outside.

The old man's lost in thought. 

Noiz can't stop staring at him. He needs to stop but he isn't, because the old man has done something to him, has somehow casted some sort of spell on him. It makes his heart clench and his head throb. He's so far gone, so tired, that he doesn't know what to do anymore.    

The last thing Noiz remembers before he falls asleep is the clock blaring in red numbers: 5:15.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Edit:** I added some more things at the very end of the last scene. It seemed like it was missing some things and I'm a bit more satisfied with it. 
> 
> I was gonna cut like the last two scenes out -- you know, them sex scenes (if you can even call them that? Well they are but this is the first time I'm posting any sort of porn I've written so yay, I guess haha)-- to save them for the next chapter but I figured there was no point to that.
> 
> Expect angst and drama and all that fun stuff next time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to have this posted earlier. Not quite happy with it but I've done all I can. Gotta move on.

The next time Noiz wakes up he's alone.

There’s no sign of the old man anywhere. He must’ve left for his so-called hair salon or to ponder the current whereabouts of Aoba. It’s most likely the latter. But Noiz hears something shuffling outside the room, the clanking and dinging of pots and pans – a racket he’s still unfamiliar with but now recognizes due to the shop. The old man hadn’t left, after all. This was wrong. He was supposed to be the first one up to make his silent escape back to his place. He wasn’t supposed to spend the night at someone else’s place, especially after sleeping with them.

Koujaku’s window was left wide open, the blinds are pulled up and the curtains are pushed aside. Sunlight spills into the old man’s bedroom, casting everything in sight with a warm glow. The window’s big enough that he could slip right through and the old man would be none the wiser. Realizing he couldn’t stay in the old man’s room forever, Noiz climbs out of bed to pick up his clothes strewn across the room.

After putting his beanie on, Noiz steps into the hallway. His nose crinkles at the smells wafting from further the corridor. Walking down the hallway, Noiz finds Koujaku in the kitchen, preparing something that requires plenty of chopped up vegetables. The old man’s bare chested, only wearing a pair of red pajama bottoms.

Although Noiz had plenty of chances to look at how much tattoos and scars covered the old man, he’d been . . . occupied before. Pink lotus flowers take up most of the old man’s back. Black markings and a kanji symbol he can’t really see are on his right bicep. Scars of his all shapes and sizes litter his back. Noiz’s fingers tic but he pushes away the nagging sense to touch the old man’s skin, his tattoos, or his scars. Koujaku’s blissfully unaware of Noiz, far too absorbed with cooking. It’s the perfect time to go. His brain screams for him to bolt it out of there, but his body ignores such obvious logic and stays rooted to the spot.

The amount of food Koujaku has out looks like he’s making more than enough for two people. He doesn’t remember the last time someone cooked something for him, to wake up to a freshly cooked meal and eat in the company of others. Sure, his parents kept him fed but he wasn’t welcomed at the table. There were three chairs for the family and then a fourth chair facing the wall. He didn’t even have the luxury of using a table.

Koujaku places down the knife, heaving a sigh. "How long do you plan on standing there?" 

Noiz narrows his eyes on the old man. _When did he know I was here?_  

"Morning brat," Koujaku greets, looking over his shoulder at Noiz with a warm smile. Noiz fidgets under his gaze. Where did the old man get off looking at him like that? "In case it wasn’t obvious enough, I made breakfast."

"I'm not hungry."

Koujaku clicks his tongue. "Bullshit. You can't skip breakfast. It's the most important meal of the day."

"You don't actually believe that, do you?"

"Well, no, it's complete bull," Koujaku grins. "But who cares? Just sit your ass down and eat my food."

Rolling his eyes, Noiz sits down at Koujaku's small kitchen table. He has two place mats down and a tiny salt and pepper shaker placed in the middle.

"It's almost done," Koujaku tells him. "Just be a good kid and don't cause any trouble."

Noiz shrugs, knowing fully well Koujaku wouldn’t see him. He puts his elbow up to hold his cheek in his palm and stares straight head. On the wall, there’s a clock of a red bird and Noiz becomes acquainted with it. He dubs it “Old Man’s Cock”, even if it’s wrong and the bird has no resemblance to a rooster. His attention strays from the clock and he looks over at the old man, taking in every little movement he makes. Noiz forces down the weird clench in his stomach. He bites his palm. Bites and bites and bites until his skin is a nice shade of pink and it’ll be a long while before his teeth marks fade away. He drops his hands over his thighs and drums his fingers on his knees.

“Do they mean anything?”

"Do what mean anything?" Koujaku asks without turning towards Noiz.

"Your tattoos. They're everywhere," he shifts in his seat. "Are there some on your dick, too?"

"It doesn't concern you, brat."

The old man’s curtness doesn’t shock him. Sure, it’s unexpected but from how visibly uncomfortable the old man is with his body enhancements he doesn’t seem to want to show them off, as if he wants to forget he even has them. So, his tattoos were a touchy subject. That was something he didn’t need to know. Noiz glares back at the clock. The Old Man’s Cock’s beady eyes look like they’re judging him. He needs to get out of here, not have breakfast with a recent lay. When Koujaku’s setting the table, Noiz hasn’t moved from his seat and he blames everything on the damn clock. Koujaku places a plate, a bowl, and a cup of tea down. Noiz doesn’t recognize any of the food . . . except for the bowl of rice. 

"What is this?"

"It's breakfast. What else would it be?" Koujaku says matter-of-factly.

Noiz averts his glare onto the food.

"Come on," Koujaku says. "Don't knock it till you try it."

"Is that what you thought last night?"

Koujaku grabs Noiz’s beanie and drops it on his lap. "Just shut up and eat."

For once, Noiz listens to the old man. He breaks off some fried fish, briefly inspects it, and then puts it in his mouth. It’s not bad but it’s not good either and he isn’t in the mood to be trying new things. As he’s eating, it takes Noiz a few moments to notice Koujaku had left the kitchen. It’s another available opportunity for him to leave. Noiz resumes eating and, sure enough, Koujaku’s padding down the hallway and back with a shirt on. Koujaku gets his share of food and sits down. He looks down at Noiz’s plate and gives him an approving smirk. 

They eat in absolute silence, simply sitting in each other's company. With the old man in front of him, he can’t see the clock anymore, so he stares at Koujaku. He doesn’t flinch whenever Koujaku returns his blank stare. Each time, the older man quirks an eyebrow and that’s it.

Noiz isn’t sure what he’s supposed to be doing. All of his one night stands end in the same way. He’d slip away, undetected in the early morning. Neither of them would reconnect nor acknowledge each other again and that was that. Would the same thing happen once he left? And even if it did, why should it matter?

Noiz scowls down at the table, idly picking at what was left on his plate with his chopsticks.

"Jeez, you're such a little kid," Koujaku says. "Don't you know better than to play with your food?"

“Tch,” is all Noiz says back.

“You’re so ungrateful,” he harrumphs. “I didn’t _have_ to make you food, you know.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

Koujaku’s chopsticks hover in front of his mouth. He narrows his eyes on Noiz, momentarily dumbstruck because he knows Noiz is right. He hadn’t asked for the old man to do this for him.

Noiz was ready to make for the door at any moment. He’d already overstayed his welcome and he was more than to go.

He waits.

Any second now, Koujaku would tell him to leave. Something flickers in the old man’s eyes and he leans forward. Noiz didn’t think this would lead to any physical interaction, but if the old man threw a punch or yanked him over the table, grabbing him harshly by the collar that he choked a little from how tight his grasp was – he sure as hell wouldn’t put a stop to it. But what Koujaku does throws Noiz off completely.

The old man holds up a piece of fish.

Noiz’s eyebrows knit together. _What?_

“Open up, brat,” Koujaku demands lightly.

Noiz keeps his mouth shut and turns his head away.

“I’ll pry your mouth open if I have to!” Koujaku seizes him by the chin, forces him forward.

He can be stubborn about this, rile the old man up enough that Koujaku personally throws him out himself. Instead, he relents and parts his lips. He lets Koujaku feed him. Noiz chews the bite, chewing more than necessary before he swallows.

“It’s good, right?”

"It's not... bad," Noiz says. “I’m not dead yet.”

Koujaku smirks at Noiz, apparently pleased to hear that. “Good enough for a second bite?” he asks, his smirk stretching into a wide grin and he picks up another piece from Noiz’s place to hold in front of him.

Noiz settles back into his seat. “You could feed me something else,” he suggests coolly, his tongue darting out to lick his lips as he catches Koujaku’s eyes.

It’s Noiz’s turn to smirk when he spots the tint of pink forming on the old man’s cheeks. Whatever Koujaku’s about to say is cut off by the phone ringing. Letting out a huff, Koujaku glares at Noiz and goes to answer the call. He hasn’t any clue of what Koujauk’s trying to pull here. He’s making him breakfast, _feeding_ him when any reasonable person would’ve kicked him out. Noiz taps at the edge of his plate, blankly looking at Koujaku’s vacated seat. He turns his head slightly, glancing over to where Koujaku is.

The old man’s face brightens when he hears the voice on the other line. “Aoba,” his grin stretches so wide that his face could spilt right in half.

Noiz doesn’t really listen to what the old man’s saying, but it’s hard to ignore the noticeable change in his tone. He had expected this. The old man had been trying to talk to Aoba in the first place. This whole thing had been about Aoba. Koujaku admitted through his drunken stupor that he’d developed feelings for his co-worker and Noiz was . . . still here.

What was he doing?

Koujaku would’ve preferred Aoba as company instead. He was everything the old man fantasized about, his _amazing_ silky hair included. His work here was done. Koujaku got what he needed and, in the process, he got laid. It was a win-win situation for everyone.

“I’m so glad you called,” Koujaku says. “I’ve been meaning to call you.”

Noiz stands up so quickly that the chair screeches across the tiled floor. He breezes past Koujaku, making a beeline for the door and shoves on his shoes. When he pushes the door open, there isn’t a trace of sunlight outside. The clouds had darkened, blackening the sky with darkness. Rain was pouring down. It was a fitting change to Noiz’s mood.

“Brat,” Koujaku sounds closer to him but Noiz doesn’t turn to see how much closer he is. “Are you leaving?”

Noiz walks out into the rain and doesn’t look back.

When he’s back home, he’s soaked to the bone. His body’s shivering uncontrollably but he’s so numb that he doesn’t notice. 

* * *

It's almost ten o'clock, way past the old man's usual timeslot. Though he should've expected this, Koujaku hasn't stopped by the shop and, from the looks of it, he won't be visiting tonight. Without the old man there, it seems to be the night for people to venture into the shop. Whenever someone walks in, Noiz bites the inside of his cheek, because he shouldn't _hope_ to see him. 

After he tends to the last customer, Noiz has to sit down. It's quiet. With noting to distract him, he realizes how crappy he feels. He feels so crappy that he can't focus. His throat is scratchy and it hurts to do anything. When it becomes too much, he leaves the counter and knocks on Sei’s door, asking if he can leave early.

Sei lets him and tells him: “you don’t look so good” and that “you should get some rest.”

Once he's out the door, he shoulders his book bag and heads down the path that will lead him back to his apartment. The plan is to get home as soon as possible, but it’s as if his body is on autopilot and he can’t recognize or remember if he’s making the right turns or if he’s on the right street. Through this madness, he somehow winds up at Koujaku’s apartment instead. The lights aren’t on and it seems like no one’s home.

He should leave.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He isn’t supposed to be coming back. If anything, everyone else always crawled back to him – even when they were clear they got their point across to him the first time. It was strictly a _one_ -time thing. It won’t happen again. Yet they’d keep his number and message him and it wouldn’t be a one-time thing anymore.

Noiz slumps down the door and sits down on the front step. He brings his knees closer to his chest and burrows face into his thighs. He would’ve yanked his beanie down to cover his face. He tugs his hood up and closes his eyes. He doesn’t know when he falls asleep – just knows that he’s exhausted and he feels like shit – or how much time has passed.

Maybe he’s hallucinating and he’s passed out on the street somewhere. Or he got to his apartment, after all, and was having a bizarre dream he couldn’t make sense of no matter how much he picked and prodded at it.

Suddenly, he’s being shaken by his shoulder. So, he didn’t make it to his place. Guess it was the other choice then. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s woken up in outlandish areas.

Noiz lifts his head and then drops back down.

“Brat?” Koujaku asks. The old man’s voice is grating, like someone dragging their fingernails down a blackboard. “What are… how long have you been waiting here?”

“Don’t know,” Noiz shakily gets to his feet and stumbles on nothing and into Koujaku’s arms. He pushes him away and loses his balance. The old man curls his arm around his waist and steadies him.

Koujaku is there to catch him. “Take it easy,” he murmurs and leads him through the front door and onto the couch.

Noiz flops bonelessly on the cushions. His clothes stick to his body and he realizes he's sweating pretty badly. His mouth is so dry. Every time he swallows, it feels like he's forcing chunks of rock down his throat.

The old man presses his hand onto his clammy forehead. "Shit, you're really burning up."

"Don't touch me," Noiz grunts and sits up. Or tries to. "I'm leaving."

Koujaku's hand is still pressed on his chest and he urges him to lay back down. "You're not going anywhere, brat," he says. "You should've waited until the rain cleared up. I'm not even surprised you got sick."

"I'm not sick."

"You're getting there."

"Forget it," Noiz grunts and he gets up despite Koujaku's best efforts. "I shouldn't have come here."

"Should I... walk you home?"

"I'm not a kid," Noiz sneers. "I don't need a guardian to walk me home."

"Stop trying to rip my head off, I’m just trying to help."

"I don't need help. I don’t need _your_ help."

Koujaku runs his hand through his hair frustrated. "Okay," he says. "Okay. You don't need help. Go on then. The door's right there."

Noiz frowns. "Fine."

"Fine," Koujaku repeats.

Noiz looks at the door. It would take be a long way back to his apartment. If he rested up a bit, it shouldn’t be too bad.

"I'll," Noiz says. "I'll take a nap first."

"Go ahead," Koujaku says. "I won't stop you.”

“Damn right you won’t.”

He wakes up wrapped up in a blanket. Noiz tosses it on the floor and leaves. 

* * *

For the next three days, he doesn’t see the old man.

He’s not avoiding him. He has no reason to.

The actual reason is that he’s bedridden with a nasty cold. Walking in the rain hadn’t ever backfired on him before, but it has and it backfired on him hard. When he calls in work, Sei is understanding about everything and says he can come by later to drop off some soup. Noiz flat out rejects Sei’s offer and puts in a minimal amount of effort to not be a total dick about it.

“Alright, I get it,” Sei had laughed. “Just focus on getting better, Noiz. We’ll see you when you get back.”

Being sick is so boring.

Noiz needs to get out of the apartment. He’s getting stir-crazy being confined to the four walls of his bedroom. But Noiz sways on his feet and tumbles onto the floor whenever he takes a step forward. He’s disoriented and his mind is hazy. 

He falls in and out of sleep and vaguely remembers any dreams he’s had. However, the one thing that stays with him is the color red – blood, blood, blood. He’s hurt himself so many times. It’s a color he knows all too well – but the puddle of red swirls together, forming into two small pools of dark crimson.

They’re eyes. 

They’re red eyes.

They’re Koujaku’s eyes.

Noiz is disgusted when he’s startled awake, his body drenched in sweat, his breaths harsh and shallow from his stuffy nose, his head pounding, and his dick rock hard. 

Why would he dream about the old man?

Despite his head screaming, he takes himself in his hand and jerks off fast. His mind is blank. His mind is plain. There’s nothing there but red. Noiz comes quietly in his hand and uses up the last of his tissues for clean-up. Somehow, he feels even lousier than before.

He hates being sick. 

* * *

The common cold is a lot more destructive than people give it credit for.

He's due back to work tomorrow but he leaves the comforts of his bed to shed out of his pajamas. He changes into somewhat fresh clothes and, since he's not sure if he'll make the trip there on foot, he hops onto a bus. Noiz arrives faster at his destination than he'd liked. It was a twenty-five minute trip, with barely any traffic and not a single red light.

He's been standing on the front steps for a few minutes, bringing his hand up to knock only to let it dangle back down a second later. Then, as if the decision was chosen for him, the door jerks open and a woman nearly runs over him. She's a redhead and busty, dressed in an air tight red dress and peppered up with too much make-up.

"Thanks so much for doing this again, Koujaku," the redhead croons, her lips are pulled up in a flirtatious smile, her teeth straight and bright. She combs her fingers through her damp hair. "I love it. I really, really do. You're the best."

The old man walks up behind her and he does a double take when he sees him. "It was no problem."

The woman hooks her finger into his shirt collar. "I'll see you again, right?" 

Koujaku holds onto her hand, giving her a wide grin. "Well, you know where to find me."

"At your hair salon?" the woman purrs. "Or your apartment? Maybe even... your bedroom?"

Koujaku laughs heartily. "If you can't find the place, you have my business card."

The woman giggles lowly, but nods - her bob following her movement - and wiggles her fingers in a botched seductive goodbye. She shoves past Noiz without looking at him, not even bothering to acknowledge him. He would've sneezed in her face or tripped her in her red stilettos but she's too damn fast. The woman deliberately sways her hips, as she leaves she glances over her shoulder to check if Koujaku's watching her go.

He's not. Instead, Koujaku leans onto door frame, clearing his throat. "Yo," he says. "What brings you here?"

Noiz turns on his heel. "Never mind."

"Wait a sec! You just got here!" Koujaku ushers him inside and shuts the door. "Jeez, you look like crap."

"I look better than you," Noiz shoots back. He stays away from the couch and keeps close to the door. He won't be taking another nap. 

Koujaku feels his forehead. "You're still pretty warm," he murmurs. "Have you been taking care of yourself?"

“Don’t touch me,” he says. "I don't want your wrinkly hands touching me."

"My hands aren't wrinkly," he hears the old man mumble as he walks past him. The corners of Noiz's mouth twitch when he catches Koujaku looking over his palms. "Are you here for another nap?"

"Your couch is too lumpy," Noiz lies. He's the one with the lumpy couch.

"Right."

"I couldn't wash the Ben-Gay smell out of my clothes."

"Would you prefer the bed, then?" Koujaku asks dryly. "I just changed the sheets and I make sure to keep all my joint creams out of the room."

Noiz snorts. "Your bed is lumpy, too. The springs dig into my back."

"Forget it," Koujaku throws his hands up in the air. "Just do what you want! Such a fucking little kid." he shuffles into the kitchen and starts looking through the cabinets. 

* * *

Koujaku's bed sheets reek of lavender. The bed is made nicely. Noiz chucks off his pants and jacket and dives under the sheets in his boxers. Noiz messes everything up within minutes. He kicks off the comforter and the extra pillows piled on top. The sheets are soft and the silky texture is unusual on his skin. An annoyed grunt alerts Noiz of Koujaku's presence by the door. 

"It took me forever to fix the bed," Koujaku huffs.

"That's not my problem."

Koujaku looks torn between fussing over him or not. He's not a little kid and he doesn't need to be tended to over every little thing. The old man puts a wet towel on his forehead and it kind of helps, just slightly. He was feeling better before but being in the old man’s place has made him feel even crappier. Koujaku gives him a bowl of salad and a small glass of tomato juice. Noiz downs the juice like a shot. The salad is left untouched.

"She was just a client."

Noiz pulls apart a piece of lettuce. "Who?" 

"That woman," Koujaku clarifies.

"What woman?"

"The woman from - you know who I'm talking about!" Koujaku bristles.

"Oh, _that_ woman," Noiz says. "Call me crazy but I think she wanted to get her mouth on your small wrinkled dick."

Koujaku throws a pillow at him. He misses. "Before I opened up my hair salon, I used to do everything at home. It was less of a hassle that way, but I hated waking up to people crowding around my place. Plus, the neighbors complained and - she was waiting for me when I got home and told me she really needed a haircut. I couldn't blame her. Before I did anything her hair looked pretty bad -"

“Cool story bro.”

The old man purses his lips. "I don't know why I'm telling you all this."

"I don't either."

"You’d think a sick person would be a little less of a smart ass,” Koujaku picks up the towel and wipes Noiz’s damp forehead with a dry one. After that, he switches the towel with a new one.

The old man looks so concentrated, over doing such a little thing. Noiz lazily slings his arm around Koujaku, tugging him down to lick at his frown.

Koujaku leans backwards. “You’re sick.”

“So?”

“You should be resting,” Koujaku says. “Not trying to spread diseases to other people.”

Noiz chucks the pillow back at Koujaku and hits him square in the face. “It’s not my problem that you have such a shitty sex-drive.”

Koujaku shoves the pillow on his lap, scowling. “What’s that have to do with anything?” he snaps. “I was talking about you being a disease infested brat! Not about," his shoulders drop. "Don’t you ever stop talking about sex?”

“I’m a growing boy.”

“A _sick_ boy,” Koujaku mutters.

Noiz sniffs. “Don’t call me a boy.”

“I didn’t think it was possible for you to get a lot more irritating,” Koujaku says. “But you always prove me wrong.”

Noiz picks up Koujaku’s hand and slides it down his chest until his fingertips are brushing against his crotch. He rolls his hips up so Koujaku can touch his bulge. Koujaku takes his hand back as if he’s been burned, letting out an indignant squawk. Noiz rolls his eyes and tries again but Koujaku slaps his hand away. 

“I’ve been masturbating like five times a day, I think I sprained my wrist,” Noiz says and shakes his dominant hand. “My hand’s tired.”

Koujaku gives a breathy little laugh. “That’s not my problem.” He says and stands by his answer to not touch his junk.

Noiz coughs and uses his “injured” hand to cover his mouth. “Ouch,” he grumbles and another cough rips from his throat. “Ow, ow, ow, ow,” he moans, after each little hack. “Oh, ouch, the pain. It’s so bad.”

“Okay.”

“I’m so weak, feeling faint…”

“ _Okay._ ”

“If only some old pervert would give me a damn handjob.”

“ _Okay!_ I get it!” Koujaku pinches the bridge of his nose, his jaw clenching. “You’re so lucky you’re sick. I would’ve kicked you out on your ass a long time ago.” 

“Hey, I just want you to touch my dick. I never said anything about my ass.”

Koujaku drops the pillow on Noiz’s face and sighs. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

The bed sheets rustle and Noiz lifts his hips up slightly to get his boxers down to his ankles. Koujaku has his hand around him. It takes awhile for the old man to adjust handling another man’s dick. His hold is firm and with the lube added there’s enough moisture that he can easily glide up and down his length. He’s more vocal than normal and he has to breathe through his mouth since his nose is clogged up with snot. But he’s sick and beyond caring.

Noiz comes with a half-broken gasp. His eyelids flutter, as the waves of his orgasm overtake his body. When he opens his eyes, Koujaku turns away – flustered that he’d been caught staring – and takes his hand back. Sighing, he rests his forearm on his temple and cleans his semen off with the sheets.

“I just changed those!” Koujaku drops a tissue box on his chest. “Use those, you dummy.”

Instead, Noiz takes the old man’s hand and wipes his come off with his tongue. Koujaku stammers, like a frightened kitten, but then he’s mumbling something under his breath. Noiz takes that as a sign to continue.

Koujaku covers Noiz’s nose in a tissue. “Get that shit out of your nose.”

Noiz scoffs but does what he’s told.

“… I suppose you’re hungry now.”

Noiz sniffles. “I could eat.” 

“Of course,” Koujaku grunts. “Guess I’ll see what I have.”

“No more salad,” Noiz crinkles his nose.

“Salad it is.”

Noiz tells himself he’ll rest for a few minutes. Half an hour tops. Half an hour tops turns out to be several hours. Those hours translates to spending the night.

Noiz calls Sei and tells him he’ll be out again tomorrow.

He’ll probably be out for a few more days.

* * *

Having someone take over your bed doesn’t seem to be a problem for the old man. Or if he does have issues with it, Koujaku doesn’t say or mention anything about.

Sometimes, Koujaku will leave for a bit, leaving for fifteen minutes or half an hour, before he returns with an armful of groceries (either from a supermarket or from the convenience store). He buys an assortment of flavors of cough drops (Noiz pops the drops into his mouth like they were candy) and gets cough syrup that tastes nothing like cherry and more like ass.

When it comes to time to take his spoonful of ass syrup, Noiz refuses to take it and suggests the old man give the medicine to him himself. Like with everything, Koujaku is against the suggestion but it usually ends with syrupy kisses.

“That tastes like shit,” Koujaku groans every time, sticking his tongue out.

“That taste is probably just you tasting yourself.”

Noiz tries to push beyond kisses but Koujaku turns him down, pulling the sick card again. 

Koujaku takes the time to cook for him. Noiz doesn’t think it’s worth the hassle and tells him he’s fine with take out. In response, Koujaku scoffs because a home cooked meal is _much_ better, especially when someone’s sick. The old man’s probably just too cheap to buy a box of pizza.

“Consider yourself lucky, brat,” Koujaku brags. “I don’t cook for just anyone.”

"Probably because no one's lived to tell the tale," Noiz quips.

(The old man’s most likely already cooked for Aoba.)

One day over dinner, Koujaku pours Noiz another helping of soup and slides the bowl over to him. Noiz’s stomach is pumped with liquid, three bowls will do that, and if he eats another bite he’s pretty sure he’ll burst. Koujaku folds his arms, leaning back in his chair while he idly chews on a toothpick.

“Hey,” Koujaku starts, rolling the toothpick to the corner of his mouth. “Tell me the address to your apartment.”

Noiz eyes him warily. "Why?"

“I’ll get some of your stuff for you.”

“Its fine,” Noiz grunts. “I won’t be staying here long, anyway.”

“Do you… have anyone else to take care of you?” Koujaku asks. “Like a roommate or something?”

He shakes his head. 

The old man drops the front legs of the chair back onto the floor. “I don’t mind if you stay here, brat,” Koujaku says. “It’s totally fine. I have no problem with it.”

Noiz stirs his spoon in the broth.

"So, what's your address?"

"I'm not telling you,” Noiz says. “I don't want you to know where I live. I don't need an old man stalking me."

"It's not like I really want to know," Koujaku grumbles.

"Then don't ask."

"Just tell me!"

Noiz loudly slurps his soup. It filters out the old man’s voice enough. 

* * *

After enough pestering and bitching, he finally manages to persuade Koujaku into sleeping with him. The old man almost changes his mind – just because he had a _slightly_ bad coughing fit earlier – but Noiz coaxes him with a languid kiss, using hints of teeth and tongue, only to put an early stop to it before he coughed into the old man’s mouth.

It takes time before the actual fucking starts. Koujaku doesn’t warm up to the idea of walking around his house in the nude, which puts a damper on things when the old man has to take some time aside to shed his clothes. Noiz tackles Koujaku onto the bed, his limited patience nonexistent from his illness and he makes up for the lost minutes wasted on trivial things. 

The old man approaches everything too slow. He’s too gentle. He can’t feel him, even with Koujaku being buried balls-deep. Koujaku’s treating him like he’s fragile, as if he’s made out of glass.

It’s all wrong.

“Go harder. Go faster. Do _something_ ,” he demands, shoving at Koujaku’s shoulder. "Is your dick even in there? I can't feel anything."

Koujaku pulls out, until he has nothing but the head inside, and thrusts forward sharply. Noiz grunts and shoves him again. “Don’t get me sick.”

“Actually fuck me and we’ll see what happens.”

When Koujaku finally picks up the pace, Noiz pulls Koujaku down to leave a trail of marks along his neck. The old man grips onto the headboard, ramming harder into him and repeatedly hitting the same spot that sparks stars in Noiz’s vision.  

On the nightstand, Koujaku’s cell phone lights up in the dark, alerting them of an incoming call. The old man’s thrusts lose rhythm, his momentum lost but he keeps going. The phone keeps ringing a few more times and then, when it seems like it’s over, Koujaku’s house phone rings. Koujaku’s face scrunches up; he hikes Noiz’s legs over his shoulders, bending Noiz in half as he swiftly fucks into him. Noiz groans, his eyes pinching shut as he comes and tightens on Koujaku’s dick, pulling the old man’s orgasm out of him. He would’ve lasted longer but his cold is screwing everything up.

Noiz dozes off as Koujaku discards his condom. He hears him pick up his phone from the floor and curses. When he opens his eyes, he can hear Koujaku talking in the other room. 

"I'm so sorry, I was... in the middle of –" Koujaku stops to let the person speak. "Yeah, of course, I will."

He isn’t trying to eavesdrop. Really, he needs to take a piss. Noiz kicks off the sheets to head to the bathroom but he freezes when he hears it. 

"Aoba.”

Noiz looks to the door, where Koujaku is standing on the other side. 

“I will. I told you I would. Definitely. I'll be there."

He slips into the bathroom and digs through the hamper. His clothes are all gathered at the bottom. He tosses Koujaku’s clothes everywhere and changes into them quickly.

"Hey, brat?" there's a soft knock on the door. "I'm going out for a little bit. It won't take long. I’ll be back soon."

Noiz walks out of the old man’s apartment when he's positive Koujaku's gone. 

* * *

He returns to work with a stuffy noise and a slight cough but he’s still capable of working. Instead of his usual shift, Sei puts him up for an earlier hour, claiming he should spend the rest of the day recovering at home.

Standing in the workroom, Noiz blankly stares at his reflection in the mirror placed in his locker. His throat has an itch his coughs never quite scratch. His eyes are watery. His nose is bright red and his eyes are bloodshot. Noiz would’ve skipped another day, but he doesn’t trust where his thoughts lead to. He needs a distraction.

Sei doesn’t trust him with handling coffee when Noiz hasn’t fully recovered yet. Apparently, his boss believes he’ll cough, sneeze, or hack loogies into the customers’ drinks. Sei hasn’t figured out that Noiz already does that when he’s perfectly healthy.

Nothing’s happening. It completely defeats the purpose of using work as a distraction. If there was one time Noiz wanted the shop to be swarmed with customers, it would be right now. It also doesn’t help that every time he coughs or makes the slightest noise, Clear is instantly by his side and smothers him with concern. The unnecessary attention from Clear is driving him up a wall. Noiz scratches at his wrists, until his skin is red and rubbed raw.

“Are you _sure_ you’re all right, Noiz?” Clear asks for the umpteenth time.

“Yes,” Noiz reiterates for the umpteenth time. “I’m fine.”

“Would you like some hot coco? Or I could make you some tea? My grandfather has this tea he’d always make for me whenever I got sick and –”

The bell goes off. 

Noiz has never been so grateful to hear the annoying high-pitched chime resound in the shop. But when Noiz sees who has provided him with the distraction, he frowns – it’s the last person he wants to see. Koujaku’s red eyes meet his and Noiz digs his nails into his wrist, his frown deepening by the gentle shine that dances in the old man's gaze and the genuine smile on his lips.

“Welcome to the _Cappuccino Princess_ , Koujaku!” Clear chirps merrily.

"Hey, Clear," Koujaku says.

For whatever reason, the old man's in a good mood. Though, anyone would generally be a slight bit chipper after having sex but the euphoria faded a long time ago for Noiz. Then again, after talking to the phone with Aoba, Noiz wondered why the old man wasn’t jumping up and down for joy and running down the streets just so show how damn happy he was.

There was nothing to be happy about. 

As Koujaku talks with Clear, he's making animated gestures with his hands, or more like _hand_ since he's holding onto a Styrofoam bowl in his right. With a boastful laugh that grates Noiz's head, Koujaku turns to him and now Noiz is on the opposite end of that smile.

"Long time no see, brat," Koujaku says. There's a beat but Noiz doesn’t say anything in return and Koujaku's smile falters somewhat, as if he _wanted_ to have him insult him. "I heard you were sick so I brought you some soup."

The old man says all of this as if Noiz hasn’t been staying at his apartment for the last few days. Did he want to pretend it never happened? Koujaku places the bowl on the counter. Written on it in a neat scrawl is “Brat”.

Noiz blankly stares at the bowl, as if it had offended him in some way.

“For a second, I thought you were avoiding me,” Koujaku says. “Not that… that would matter.”

“I was sick,” Noiz says.

“I know you were," the old man grumbles, combing his fingers through his fringe. "It's just. You should’ve told me.”

It seems like there’s something more the old man wants to say but what he does is slip his hands into his pockets. The old man isn’t making any sense. He stopped making sense ever since he made him breakfast . . . after they first slept together. The last thing person he expected to make things complicated was Koujaku.

Koujaku's the type who must've slept with plenty of women, had more than his share of one night stands. At the bar, it was hard to miss the women who ogled Koujaku, mentally undressing him in their eyes and positioning their bodies in a way to show they were interested. Noiz would've understood if the old man slipped away to take up the many propositions thrown his way. There were plenty of other people that Noiz could've slipped away with, but the old man didn't and they slept together and that was the end.

But here Koujaku is, doing and saying strange things that Noiz can't even begin to comprehend. The object of Koujaku's affections is in the kitchen, but Koujaku hasn't asked about Aoba . . . yet.

Noiz isn’t any better. He shouldn’t have gone back to the old man’s apartment to begin with. It was the cold, the damn persistent cold that wouldn’t leave him alone.

"How could I've done that?” Noiz asks.

Koujaku’s face falls but he recovers rather quickly. “Oh, right, well, it wasn't like I was worried or anything,” he chuckles and takes out his cell phone. “You’re still pretty annoying but… let’s exchange contact information.”

For a moment, Noiz almost humors the old man and reaches for his phone. Instead, he crosses his arms in front of him. “What are you doing?”

“Trying to get your number?” Koujaku says and he must realize how that sounds because he amends his statement. “I’m trying to have a way to contact you.”

"Is that all?" Noiz snaps, mockingly. His head is pounding and he doesn't want to play along with whatever Koujaku is trying to do anymore. "You already got what you needed. There doesn’t have to be anything else to it. It was nothing."

Finally, Koujaku's smile shatters but the sight doesn’t please Noiz like he thought it would.

“I wasn’t,” Koujaku frowns. “We can’t even be... friends?”

A short bark of laughter leaves Noiz, but it sounds dry and wheezy. Not as sardonic as Noiz wanted it to be. “When were we ever friends?”

“Ah, I understand now,” Koujaku says numbly. “It was nothing.”

He nods, glad that the old man finally understood. “Are you going to order something or what?”

Koujaku shakes his head, his expression unreadable, and leaves the café. Clear makes a sound behind him. Noiz had forgotten there was something else during his and Koujaku’s exchange.

“Don't you think that was a little harsh?” Clear asks.

Noiz ignores him and shoves the soup off the counter. The broth spills over the tiled floor and Noiz stares at it for a few minutes before he goes to clean it up. 

* * *

The look on the old man’s face doesn’t sit right with him. 

He should do something. But he won’t apologize because that’s not something he does. Not something he’ll ever do. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s walking up to Koujaku’s apartment. He has no purpose being here. It’s pointless to do so, just a waste of his time.

When he’s close to the front door, it opens – he expects to see another woman or the redhead from the other day. But it isn’t. Aoba walks outside and he looks distraught, like he’s about to burst into tears. Did he have a fight with the boss? Did they break-up? Who knows. Aoba hangs his head down, grabbing at his jacket while his body shakes.

Koujaku steps outside to stand behind the tearful man. The old man looks like he doesn’t know what to do with himself, before he seems to a make a decision and walks around Aoba to hug him.

Noiz turns around and doesn't look back.

It was a pointless trip, after all.

* * *

School is lurking just around the corner.

On a whim, Noiz heads down to the campus to refamiliarize himself with his surroundings and to search for his new classes. Noiz knows the layout like the back of his hand. He’d memorized the school map before he even got his acceptance letter. But from going back and forth to his apartment to the show, he needs a change of scenery.

Noiz stops in his tracks. 

From a distance, he spots Aoba standing in the middle of the library. He’s alone but from how often he checks his watch and looks around, he’s obviously waiting for someone. Noiz hasn’t really run into Aoba at school. But in the last few days, he’s seeing too much of the baker. He starts off in another direction.

“Aoba!”

The distinct voice rings in his ears. Before he can stop, he looks over to see Koujaku running up to Aoba, waving excitedly at him like a lunatic. Noiz stand there stupidly, watching the two interact – he regrets his careless mistake, because Koujaku catches him gawking and calls out to him.

He leaves.

He wouldn’t want to ruin their date. 

* * *

It doesn’t mean anything.

Everyone has to look at the entrance whenever a customer walks in. It was required. Written in the list of rules Sei had given for every employee to look over. Every time he looked away from what he was doing to check the entrance, he wasn’t doing it to find anyone, to see if anyone walked in. He isn’t looking for anyone in particular, especially not a certain old man, who he hasn’t seen since he told him off.

It doesn’t mean anything.

Noiz can’t stand working at his usual shift. He requests to work during earlier ones even though he prefers sleeping in. The change is a good thing, since this keeps him busy and there’s slightly more people in the coffee shop, but he swears he can hear someone saying Koujaku, Koujaku, Koujaku over and over again like a broken record.

He’s not imagining anything.

At one of the tables, a small group of women were giggling about the amazing haircut they’ve gotten from the great Koujaku. The women talk shrilly. Their voices raise above everyone else’s in the shop, while they shamelessly gush about the old man – they don’t stop at how well he cuts their hair. They swoon over his gracious personality, how attractive he is, and sigh over how talented he is with his hands.

 _What shameless women_ , Noiz grits his teeth in disgust. 

“Those ladies orders are done,” Clear announces, disrupting Noiz from his heavy glare he has targeted on the women’s table.

Noiz takes the tray and stalks over to the women. “Leave.”

“Eh?” one of them squawks. “What do you mean?”

He holds their drinks hostage and defiantly walks back to the counter when all they do is gawk back at him. Today, it seems that nearly everyone that walks into the shop has something to say about the old man. Noiz downright refuses to offer any service to anyone who dares say his name near him. Finally, after receiving a number of complaints, Sei suggests Noiz unloading the trucks out in the back with Mink.

Noiz catches Mink in the middle of stacking boxes next to the door. Each of boxes are unlabeled, which will make sorting things out in the supply room that much easier. But Sei hadn't told Noiz that he was going to have to do that.

"What do you want me to do?" Noiz asks.

The question hangs in the air. Mink simply continues to the task at hand, as if he hadn't heard or noticed Noiz at all. Frowning but not unused to Mink's lack of acknowledge of others, Noiz takes out his phone and starts to fiddle around with it. He presses random buttons, not really searching for anything to do but to just seem occupied. All that random pressing leads Noiz to his photo gallery. Although his expression is a cool mask, Noiz nearly gapes at what pulled up on his screen. He didn't remember taking a picture of the old man but there's he is, seated at his usual table, gazing out the window with a faraway look.

Of course, the logical thing to do would be to delete the image. How a picture of the old man ended up in his phone he'll never know (sure, he's taken one or two pictures of Koujaku doing something idiotic, but he'd never take one of him looking decent), but at least he can get rid of it. His thumb hovers over the button to confirm its deletion.

"Is something troubling you?" Mink asks.

"No," his reply is faster and more defensive than he'd like but Mink caught him off guard. It isn't like him to ask about his well-being and suddenly strike up a conversation like that. 

As Noiz lowers his phone, Mink spares a brief glance at him with his lips pressed into a thin line. Noiz can't tell what the older man's thinking but he can easily tell Mink doesn't believe him one bit. Fortunately, Mink doesn't press on the matter and hops back into the truck to get the rest of the boxes in the back.

Once Mink has all the boxes out of the truck, he decides to take a break for a cigarette and leans next to Noiz on the grimy brick wall. Mink offers Noiz one, which he accepts with a small grateful nod. The smoke curls in the same way the old man's did.

Then, for a moment, he's back in Koujaku's bedroom with the old man next to him, taking a long puff from his cigarette. His chest slightly expands as he exhales the smoke. Koujaku nudges him in the side, telling him to quit gawking.

Frustrated, Noiz drops the cigarette and furiously grounds it out with the heel of his shoe.

Mink clucks his tongue in disapproval. "What a waste."

Noiz can't stay still. He’s unsure of what to do with his hands, with his arms, with anything. “Give me another one.”

“No way,” Mink snorts. “Not after that. Be more resourceful.”

Frowning, Noiz scratches his nape.

It doesn’t mean anything. 


	4. Chapter 4

With school back in session, Noiz's schedule is constantly changing. There really isn't a need to keep working at the shop, anymore. Getting this job was just to fight against boredom over a lackluster winter break. It's safe to say that he can return back to his old habits. He can get laid regularly again by whoever's desperate for a quick fuck. He hasn't had _actual_ sex (the old man doesn’t count), hasn't gotten his hands dirtied up in a brawl, or tinkered around on his laptop in far too long. Finally, he could fall back to how everything was before.

Noiz leaves his apartment with one goal in mind: to quit.

He arrives at the shop, moving past Clear and Mink, and making way for Sei’s office. He barges in and goes up to his boss’ desk.

"Noiz?" Sei perks up slightly in his seat and lowers his tablet. "What brings you here?" he asks, smiling brightly.

Would he still be smiling if he knew what Aoba was doing?

He could break the news to him. Tell him everything. Nothing would've stopped him from doing so before. But he keeps his mouth shut. It's not his business to tell.

"It's nothing." 

* * *

For once, the coffee shop has a decent amount of patronage. Then again, it is the time of day where the Starbucks a few blocks down tends to get overcrowded, so people settle for second (or fifth in Noiz’s opinion) best. Clear's at the register, happily jotting down orders on a small notebook. He's switched places with Mink, who is beside Clear and looming at the increasing line, which this leaves Noiz with making drinks. Usually, there's a thrill in finishing as many drinks as he possibly can, before he has to ask Mink for some help. But today, Noiz isn't getting pumped up by the tense, hectic atmosphere that rush hour typically brings.

“Welcome to the _Cappuccino Princess!_ ” Clear says above the bustling of the shop. Despite everything going on at once, Clear still manages to keep his eyes glued onto the door. He's more than ready to dish out the shop’s welcome to every customer. “It’s Koujaku! Koujaku’s here!”

Noiz becomes rigid at the mention of the old man. He spots Koujaku faster than he'd like, but the other man doesn't see him. Women are swarming him like an angry mob at a witch burning. Koujaku’s head is above the crowd, giving everyone a clear view of his charming smile. He knows why Koujaku's here. Aoba's working on the same shift, too. Of course, out of all the days Noiz had to work, it had to be the same day as Aoba's. It's more than likely that the two would be meeting up later, so Koujaku could brush Aoba’s alluring hair with his dick.

Noiz slams his hands onto the counter. Clear jumps next to him, clasping onto his apron.

“I’m taking my break,” he announces and looks at Mink. “You can take over for me, right?”

Mink gives Noiz a sidelong look. “Sure.”

He slips away into the kitchen, where Aoba's cheerfully kneading a blob of dough on a cutting board. He's practically covered in a messy coat of flour. There are a few baking sheets all over the kitchen countertop. Each sheet has an assortment of goodies, waiting to be baked in the oven. With the finished products, some cupcakes have uneven icing, cookies are misshapen, and the brownies look extra burnt. The cake on the display stand is lopsided.

Sei must really like Aoba to keep him around. Either that, or the sex was too good to turn down. It's shame Aoba didn't seem to feel the same way.

Aoba sighs, wiping his forehead and smearing flour over his face. He rolls his shoulders and has his hands buried in dough when he finally notices him. "What are you doing here, Noiz? Aren't you supposed to be out front with everyone else?"

“Didn’t feel like dealing with people.”

"I don't blame you. Things can get a bit overwhelming at the register," Aoba looks down at the dough he's trying to flatten out. "I'd ask if you'd like to help but... I think we both know that wouldn't be a good idea. Plus, Sei _strictly_ told me to keep you away from the oven. Or anything else that can catch on fire."

"A lot of things can catch on fire."

A deafening shriek resounds outside the kitchen. There were a lot of shrieks and squeals coming from outside. From the sheer amount of overwhelming sounds, anyone would think someone was getting murdered. The old man just has that kind of effect on people.

Aoba grimaces. "Is Koujaku here?"

Noiz shrugs.

"Judging from those glass shattering squeals, his _fans_ must be here again," Aoba says, shaking his head. "I guess that's what he gets for being so popular. Every time I see him he's always surrounded by women. I can barely talk to Koujaku when they're around. They get so jealous of anyone who tries to talk to him."

Noiz traces his fingertip over the counter top, dragging his finger through a mess of flour. 

“Hey, Noiz?”

“Yeah?” 

Aoba wipes his hands over his apron. “Aren’t you friends with Koujaku?”

"No," he says firmly.

Why did everyone assume he was friends with the old man? 

"Really?" Aoba takes some flour to sprinkle over the cutting board and his mound of dough. "You two seemed to be on familiar terms, so I just thought that --"

"You thought wrong," Noiz interjects coolly. "I don't even know who you're talking about, Aoba."

He doesn’t have any friends and he certainly didn't need any.

"No need to get testy. It was a simple mistake."

Noiz frowns.

“About the other day…” Aoba trails off and peeks up through his bangs. “My dog’s been missing for a few days and Koujaku volunteered to help me look for him. I needed all the help I could get. He was just helping me out.”

Noiz’s nose wrinkles. “What about the other time?” It’s too late to take it back. His mouth goes off without his permission.

"Huh? What –"

“Forget it,” he interrupts. “I’m going to the back.”

“Wait a sec!” Aoba blurts.

“Second’s up,” Noiz quips but he’s blocked by Aoba from slipping through the backdoor.

Aoba retrieves something from his apron – a crinkled, folded piece of paper – and blows flour off of it. “Could you take this with you?”

Noiz grabs the paper and crumbles it into his pocket.

“I’ve been giving one of these to everyone,” Aoba says. “If you hear anything, _anything_ at all, don’t hesitate to give me a call.”

“Is that all?”

“Yeah, that’s all.”

The smile Aoba has on doesn’t quite reach his eyes and he returns to half-heartedly baking. With the door unblocked, Noiz pushes it open and stale air invites him outside. From the faint scent of cigarette smoke lingering outside, it seems that someone else had the same idea as him. Noiz steps outside, discovering that someone was the old man. The old man who was supposed to stay in the shop to be coddled by his adoring fans, the old man who shouldn’t be outside with his lips wrapped around a cigarette.

He still has his hand on the door. He steps back into the kitchen, his body screaming at him to flee, but he perseveres forward. He has nothing to run or hide from.

Koujaku notices him right away. “Brat?” he straightens against the wall. “What are you doing here?”

"I work here," Noiz states bluntly. "I'm allowed to be back here."

"Sorry, I just had to get away from all those girls. They can get a bit... intense sometimes," Koujaku laughs softly. "I didn't even know they liked going here."

"You led them here," Noiz says. "It's part of the price of being so popular."

"I wouldn't say that _I_ led them here," Koujaku scuffs his shoe on the ground, lifting his cigarette back to his mouth. "Or maybe I did but, hey, at least the shop's getting some business. That's always good, right?"

Noiz jams his hands into his jacket pockets, scowling at the dirt.

The silence that bleeds into the atmosphere is a long one. There should be awkwardness in the air. He doesn’t want to be here but nothing is awkward at all. There’s an unexplainable peaceful quality to the increasing silence, but there is _nothing_ peaceful about being around Koujaku. He shouldn’t be at ease with someone who irritates the hell out of him.

"So," Koujaku says, after a long pause. "Why don't you work your usual shift anymore? It's a lot... quieter." 

The old man already knows the answer to his question.

"Aoba doesn't work the late shift."

A beat passes.

"Oh."

And that's that.

"But I wasn't talking about Aoba," Koujaku continues. "I was talking about you. Besides, I already know Aoba’s schedule so I can visit him whenever I like.”

“Then, there’s no reason why we have to keep talking.”

"What?" the old man cocks his head. "You're not making any sense."

"You don't make sense," Noiz says like the mature nineteen year old he is.

"You've got to give me more than just that, brat," Koujaku says. "How am I supposed to know what's wrong if you won't talk to me?"

"Nothing's wrong."

Koujaku drops the rest of his cigarette onto the floor and putting it out with his shoe. "I know we haven't really gotten along before, but you've never... I don’t know. You’re acting weird.”

" _You're_ acting weird."

“I don’t know if you noticed this but I’m trying to have a mature conversation here. It’d help if you actually said something back, instead of constantly mocking me.” 

Noiz gives him a level stare. "No."

"Quit it."

" _You_ quit it," Noiz snaps. "You started this."

"I – what?"

The old man can’t get it through his thick skull that he doesn’t want to talk to him. Anyone with a brain would’ve understood the message and fucked off by now. Noiz’s nails claws at his wrist, pressing his nail into a vein. He pulls at his piercing imbedded in his skin, gives the silver stud quick harsh yanks.

“Quit it,” Koujaku demands. “Stop it.”

“ _You quit it_.”

Koujaku wrenches his hand off. “Stop doing that.”

It’s too late. Bits of skin shreds off and blood dribbles down his hand. A single line of red rolls down his index finger and droplets stain the dirt.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Noiz spits out. “I can do what I damn well please.” He lifts his hand up to Koujaku’s face and smacks the blood onto his cheek.

“You little –”

The conversation isn’t going anywhere. It’s a dead end.

Noiz whirls around, fisting Koujaku’s shirt and jerks him forward just so he can shove him back onto the wall. Whatever Koujaku says is lost to his ears, he drowns out the old man’s pained grunt by surging forward to bite his lips. Koujaku is perfectly still, unresponsive for a moment, before he responds back.

“Is this what you want?” Noiz hisses, his words muffled into the kiss. “Is this what you’re here for, old man?”

Not wanting to waste any time, he goes for Koujaku’s belt and zipper while he shoves his tongue into his mouth – but then he’s being pushed away, stumbling back a few steps. Koujaku holds his arm to his mouth, as if he’s been burnt on his lips. Noiz glowers at the old man’s actions. A kiss was okay but trying to get his hands on his dick was out of the question? He tries again, because he’s not about to stop, but Koujaku pushes Noiz back each and every time he approaches him.

“Cut it out,” Koujaku tells him. “This isn’t what I’m here for. I shouldn’t have kissed you back like that. It’s just that –”

“Bullshit. What else would you be here for? Why else would you come back to talk to me? Let me stay at your apartment?”

Koujaku sighs and takes a step forward. “Can’t we just –”

Noiz cuts him off with a punch to his jaw.

The old man staggers from the swift blow, clutching his jaw. His eyes are blown wide, something flashing in his red glare, but he regains his footing and lowers his arm. Noiz grits his teeth. Usually, after someone threw the first punch there would be several more to follow. He tries it again, aiming a hit at the old man’s cheek. The process repeats. Another punch, still from him, the old man isn’t fighting back. He’s _supposed_ to be fighting back. Without a reaction, the old man was just being used as a live punching bag and that’s not what he wants.

“Brat,” Koujaku says. “Come on. We don’t have to do this.”

He’s trying to talk things out. Going for the “reasonable” way out of things. He won’t go for it. 

“Can’t throw one lousy punch?” Noiz taunts, swinging his arm out and narrowly missing Koujaku’s nose. “That’s embarrassing!”

“I’m not going to fight you.”

“Is the old man scared of losing?” he says. “Scared of breaking your hip?”

Koujaku doesn’t say a word. He dodges another one of Noiz’s punches. Noiz isn’t getting anything out of this exchange. He still has something up his sleeves.

“No wonder Aoba didn’t go for your pathetic ass,” Noiz sneers. “You’re a fucking cunt.”

It’s a low blow, mentioning Aoba like that in the middle of everything. But it gets something out of the old man, a flicker of hurt on his face, so he keeps pushing – picking at a scab and digging into the wound, instead of letting it gradually heal. He keeps insulting Koujaku, before he turns his insults onto Aoba and that, finally, makes Koujaku snap and he lashes out, tackling Noiz onto the ground. They get into a tussle, frantically rolling around in the dirt, both of them trying to gain the upper hand.

The back of his head slams into the ground. He hisses, blindly throwing his arms around as Koujaku pins him down. Noiz squirms, thrashing wildly and sputtering curses in German through gritted teeth. The old man seizes his wrists, holding them above his head. He struggles, doing his best to break free, and through his efforts he happens to _feel_ the tent in the old man’s pants.

Noiz chuckles humorlessly. “Do you get off on this?”

He’s a hypocrite. He’s already aching in his too tight jeans and Koujaku can’t exactly miss the way he’s not-so-subtly rubbing his crotch into his ass. Noiz spits a mixture of blood and saliva at the old man’s face. Letting out a grunt, Koujaku loosens his grip and Noiz takes this opportunity to reverse their positions. He sits on top of the old man and he could give him what he asked for, go in dry and fuck him hard into the dirt and gravel. Smirking wryly, Noiz moves his ass back and forth over Koujaku’s bulge. The old man’s breath hitches, he pinches his eyes shut, and turns his head. His hair shields his face, obscuring whatever expression he’s wearing.

“Stop it,” Koujaku demands in a soft voice. “Get off me, brat.”

Noiz grips Koujaku’s chin, forcing him to look him in the eye. He brushes his hair away, slightly sees the tattoo sheered into his cheek. He leans down, biting at the underside of Koujaku’s chin. Those damn red eyes are irritating. Noiz wants to sink his nails into his eye sockets and gouge them out. He slaps him, putting more force than necessary that Koujaku’s head falls back. Koujaku snarls, lurching upward to bash their foreheads together. The hit dizzies him briefly but it’s enough for Koujaku to scramble free. Noiz falls back on his ass, his arm shoots out, grabbing Koujaku’s ankle and yanking him down.

Time is lost on Noiz after every punch and kick. It takes him some effort for Koujaku to hit back, but the other man’s restraint dissolves and he gives as good as he gets. The pressure of Koujaku’s powerful punches makes Noiz feel alive for the first time in months. Or even in years. He doesn’t want this to stop. He could keep doing this forever . . . and it would’ve lasted forever if Mink hadn’t appeared out of nowhere to break things up.

Mink is somewhat taller than the old man but glaring up at Mink from the ground, he comes off as a giant. If Mink notices the boners they’re sporting, he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he glowers at Koujaku. “Leave.”

“Uh, yeah, okay,” Koujaku scrambles to his feet, his eyes are trained on Noiz but he refuses to make eye contact. “Excuse my reckless behavior.” After that, he makes a hasty exit.

Noiz licks the roof of his mouth and spits out a bloodied glob. 

“Clean yourself up,” Mink says, dropping a handkerchief on his head.

“You don’t like this look?”

Mink responds back with a noncommittal grunt.

He stays with him for a bit, shaking out a cigarette from a packet and lighting it up. Noiz steps next to Mink, nursing his jaw and mildly checking for any missing teeth. The old man had a nasty right hook. He holds the stained red handkerchief to Mink, who briefly glances at it with a snort.

“Keep it.”

“Wow, thanks, I don’t know what to say,” Noiz says dryly, affectionately rubbing the ruined tissue over his cheek and jaw. “I’ll treasure it forever.”

With another snort, Mink offers a cigarette. “Don’t waste it.” 

“I won’t.”

Mink lights the tip and discards the butt to the floor, swiftly grounding it out his boot. He’s starting on his third one when he tells Noiz he can leave. “You don’t have to stay,” he says. “I’ll cover the rest of your shift.” 

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“You look like shit. Go home and sleep the day off,” Mink tells him and heads back inside.

Noiz pulls a long inhale from his cigarette. He’s not a big fan of cigarettes. There isn’t much of a kick from it. Just the fleeting need to feed an addiction, but he indulges in them whenever the opportunity raise – like after sex and his bedmate, drenched in sweat and flushed, decides to enjoy the afterglow with a cigarette and hands Noiz once. He doubts Mink has anything else on him. Then again, he wouldn’t think to ask Mink if he had a joint on him. Noiz repeatedly smacks his head onto the wall, exhaling smoke from his lips. Alcohol sounded appealing right now. The remnants of adrenaline from his fight are making him antsy.

When he drops the filter on the ground, he notices something at his feet. Without thinking, he picks it up. It’s one of Koujaku’s business cards for his hair salon. There’s something written on the back. 

_Brat,_

_I think we should talk... or something. It doesn’t have to be right now. Just. Whenever._

There was nothing to talk about.

He crumbles up the card and tosses it in the dumpster.

* * *

Ignoring Mink’s advice, Noiz returns to his shift . . . after he cleans himself up a little. The first aid kit in the supply room should be good enough. He peeks inside the room, switching on the light bulb, and skims over the shelves. The spot where the kit’s usually placed is empty. Noiz scrapes his shoe at the floor and slams the door shut. The kitchen would be his next bet. The door to the kitchen is closed when it’s usually left open. Every now and then, they would have to go back and forth from the front to the kitchen to restock the glass display. With the sudden surge of customers, it was less of a hassle to keep opening and closing the door. Did Aoba want some privacy from baking?

Noiz glances further down the hall. Sei’s office is closed, too. Did Aoba want privacy with _someone?_ It didn’t matter what Aoba was doing, he needed something to clean his wounds. As he cracks the door open, he hears voices on the other side. There’s Aoba, of course, and then there’s –

“Koujaku,” Aoba sighs. “What the hell did you do?”

“I, uh, tripped,” Koujaku says. He’s sounds so bright and he can practically hear his stupid grin. “You should really warn people about that step.”

“What step?”

“You know that step where, you know, people walk and… peruse.”

“Do I even _want_ to know what sort of dumb crap you got into?”

“Seriously, Aoba, I tripped. That’s all.”

Noiz peers through the small space he’s given himself. The old man is sitting down, shirtless, while Aoba tends to him. The first aid kit is on the kitchen counter. Noiz’s hand grips onto the doorknob and he slams the door shut. Hopefully, Aoba’s hand slipped and screwed up, jabbing the tweezers he was holding into a cut.

He bumps into Mink on his way out.

“I thought I told you –”

“Don’t worry, I’m leaving.” 

* * *

In less than three days later, Noiz quits. 

* * *

Although, school _is_ back Noiz has missed most of, if not all, his classes. He’s been spending most of his time lounging around his apartment, rotting his life away with stupid Youtube videos, porn, or movies he’s downloaded illegally. Sometimes, his phone lights up with a text from an unknown number but instead of a random hook-up, he’s been getting messages from Clear.

Somehow, Clear got a hold of his number but he has a hunch that Sei had something to do with this. He should’ve hacked into his tablet and deleted everything Sei had on him. He keeps forgetting to get a new number. Clear frequently bombards him with texts that Noiz leaves his phone off most of the time nowadays.

_Hi, Noiz! It’s meeee! Clear!_

_Noiz, r u there?_ _This is ur #, right? :O_

_Noiz! Where r u?? :c_

_Noiz! I’m working the late shift 2nite! I’ll c u there?_ _:D_

_Noiz!_

_… Noiz?_

He has no choice but to go back to campus when he gets e-mails warning him he’ll be dropped from all his classes if he kept skipping. Fortunately, he doesn’t run into any familiar faces but he does see a few customers that had stopped by the shop (though they know better than to approach him). Noiz sits through his lectures on autopilot. He takes zero notes and screws around on his laptop.

The day goes well enough that it isn’t long before Noiz rushes back home and everything starts all over again.

The next day starts with thirty-five unread messages from Clear. 

* * *

Aimlessly wandering his usual spots for hook-ups is what Noiz does during his free time. He gets offers left and right but declines each and every one of them. Nothing catches his interest for too long. On the slight chance a slight spark of excitement ignites, it quicly diminishes and Noiz moves onto someone else.

He shouldn’t be so picky. Sex is sex. He doesn’t do it for excitement or for fun. He did it when he had nothing better to do, when he was bored.

He was bored. He’s been bored.

So, Noiz accepts an offer from one of his classmates who approaches him after lecture finishes. They slink away to the men’s room and get into a stall. Noiz sinks onto the dirty tiles, while his classmate fumbles with his belt. The guy isn’t all that attractive, not that Noiz cared how appealing his human dildo will be, but he’s shaking so much he expects him to run off in tears. There’s a small puddle next to his leg. It’s too light to be urine but it smells like piss. Disinterested, Noiz looks over the tacky wallpaper patterns or the graffiti carved into the stall. He absently rubs himself over his jeans but his dick isn’t responding.

Finally, the nameless fuck manages to get his pants halfway down his hips. His dick waves in front of Noiz’s face. The head is a harsh shade of pink and is already oozing, the first dick for the new quarter.

“Never mind,” Noiz sighs and uses the toilet to push his body up and off of the damp floor.

“What?” his classmate stammers. “What do you mean ‘never mind’?”

“What do you think the word means?” Noiz asks. “I changed my mind."

He kicks open the stall and strolls over to the exit. The guy tries to stop him but ends up falling over and landing on a puddle of piss. Guess he’d have to sit somewhere else in class.

* * *

The next best thing is to go back to the arcade. 

But he’d have to pass the coffee shop to get there. The chances of bumping into anyone are very slim but he’s not willing to risk it. With sex and the lame arcade games off the table, there’s only one thing left to fight against his boredom.

So, Noiz goes out of his way to start fights any chance he gets. He loses tracks of every fight he’s had, but his body knows enough that it protests every little movement he makes. His professors urge him to seek medical care when he shows up to class bruised and bloody. Even the stricter professors, who could care less about their students as long as they kept getting paid, were expressing concern over his well-being.

All of this newfound concern isn’t what’s normally supposed to happen. This isn’t the first time he’s shown up at school beaten up. No one’s ever said anything before. He’s not doing anything different to garner this unwanted attention. Eventually, all of this fussing over becomes too much for him and he goes back to ditching class. 

One day, his mother rings him up and asks how school is. He hasn’t talked to anyone from home in months, no, years. Her questions aren’t filled with any sort of affection. It’s all feigned interest on her part. He doesn’t know why she bothered. She doesn’t care about him, yet she’s done something so uncharacteristic that Noiz doesn’t hang up right away. She sounds older and drones on and on about some bullshit. Apparently, someone from the school called her up and tattled on him.

“Don’t you think you’re a little too _old_ to be getting into fights?” she scolds him, as if she’s finally decided to play her role as a mother _now_.

 _What the fuck was up with everyone?_  

When did everyone get the memo to act so out of character. Everything feels so damn surreal that he's not even sure if he's awake, anymore. He rips off the scab on his elbow.

Once he has enough, he hangs up and disconnects his phone.

He’s going insane. 

* * *

Something moist and rough keeps rubbing his cheek. It’s the weirdest dick Noiz’s has ever felt in his life. He cracks an eye open, haziness clouding his eyesight. His head is pounding, as if someone drove something into his skull and cracked it open. Each time he blinks, a teensy bit of his vision starts to clear up enough and instead of a dick hovering above him . . . it’s a small dog with its tongue poking out of its snout. The animal tilts it head and nudges Noiz’s chin with its nose, as if it was checking if he was still alive and kicking.

Noiz ignores it to scan his surroundings. He had passed out in the alleyway again, marking this as his fifth time this week. Noiz lifts his head off the concrete and finds a pool of blood had gathered beneath his head. He pushes his body upright and his body screams at him but he manages to prop himself up into a sitting position, and gets a better look of the dog. The breed is lost on him, but he was never big on dogs anyway and only bothered to remember two breeds. It has a thick black coat and looks like a fluffy lump of coal with stubby legs. 

Noiz circle his fingers around the dog’s neck. There’s no collar on it. It’s just another stray roaming the streets.

“What do you want?” Noiz asks and glances away from the animal’s imploring blue eyes. “Get lost.”

He digs in his pocket for his wallet, realizing belatedly that it was stolen after he’d passed out during a brutal brawl. Even without any money on him, Noiz bleeds all the way to the arcade. He'd stopped caring about running into anyone from the coffee shop a long time ago.

He doesn't know why he feels so much more empty than usual. 

(He knows why.)

Everyone stares at him like they've never seen a drop of blood in their life. Despite the owner asking him to leave, Noiz leaves on his own accord and, just to spite the balding owner and the gawking kids, he wipes his blood on every machine he passes. Outside the building, he finds the dog waiting for him. It happily yips at him, giddily hopping up and down while wagging its fluffy tail.

“What are you so damn happy about?”

Noiz turns on his heels and heads back to his apartment. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see the dog trailing after him. He walks a bit faster but it’s harder to lose the dog than Noiz thought it would be. Although his legs are hobbling, he picks up the pace – the dog was a little thing. How hard would it be to lose it? – but the animal is faster than Noiz gives credit for and it matches up to Noiz’s speed.

Once they’re standing in front of his place, Noiz glares at the stubborn thing and unlocks the door. Its tail continues to wag, swaying from side to side; it’s been wagging ever since they left the arcade. He doesn’t know how it hasn’t fallen off already. Noiz leaves the door closed, engaging in a staring contest with the dog at his feet.

"I prefer rabbits,” he says and swings the door open.

Before he can stop it, the dog trots inside and disappears. Sighing, Noiz kicks off his shoes, shuffling over to his bathroom and cleans up. He’s in and out of there quickly, doing what needs to be done, and makes his way to his bedroom. He takes off his bloodied shirt, tosses his beanie onto the drawer, and collapses on his bed. His eyelids close and he inhales the scent of his pillows. They smell nothing like lavender. Right as he’s about to fall asleep, something tickles his nose.

He cracks an eye open.

The dog has emerged from wherever it was hiding and was curled up next to his head. It made itself comfortable on his pillow. When it sees Noiz staring, it licks his nose. Noiz scoffs but shifts closer to his wall. He falls asleep within seconds.

When his eyes open, his clock informs him that he’s slept all day. The dog has shifted closer to the wall, nearly tucked into Noiz’s chest. If he went to lie on his stomach, he’d crush it. Noiz faces the opposite direction and hears something crinkling as he kicks his legs out to spread out his bed sheets. Puzzled, Noiz grabs the source of the little noises and takes his hand out from under the sheets holding a piece of paper.

Naturally, he unfolds it.

It’s a poster for a missing dog, for Aoba’s dog.

Plastered all over the inside of Aoba’s locker were photographs of his beloved pet. Noiz glances at the dog and then looks at the picture. He doesn’t know why he hadn’t made the connection before.

“… Ren?”

Instantly, the animal perks up at the sound of its name.

“Ren.”

The dog bounces onto its paws, playfully pawing at Noiz’s back.

“Hmm,” Noiz hums as he plops his hand on Ren’s head and distractedly tugs at the dog’s ears. “I still prefer rabbits.”

Ren barks in disagreement.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another unintentionally long chapter! I'll probably fix a bunch of things but, right now, I'm glad I got it done!

Having an unintentionally borrowed pet around the house took some getting used to. It was certainly a new experience for Noiz. He’d never had to take care of another person, much less an animal. Sure, he’s played games where the main objective was to care for a pet of some sort. Noiz tended to neglect or forget about his fake pets, in favor of playing other games. Often times, he’d come back to find a pixelated tombstone in place of his pet. Those games weren’t placed very high with Noiz’s favorite genres.

Ren was a quiet dog.

The animal would shadow after Noiz whenever he went to get something from the fridge or a snack. Ren would lounge next to him, while Noiz was on his laptop. Sometimes, Ren plops his head onto Noiz’s thigh and gazes up at him. Whatever dark magic Ren has won’t work on Noiz. He doesn’t cater to Ren’s needs but . . . he has laid out water and some decent food. It’s not dog food but it’s the best he can do on short notice.

Noiz meant to give Ren back days ago but simply hasn’t gotten around to it. He knows Aoba’s out there somewhere, fretting over the whereabouts of his dog. Aoba should know where his dog is. At the very least, he should know that Ren’s okay but it’s too much work to call him up.

Whenever he nods off, Ren has taken the job of becoming his personal alarm clock – the dog wakes him at a reasonable time. It’s annoying but Ren won’t “turn off” his alarm until he’s stopped closing his eyes and burrowing deeper into the sheets.

Today marks the fourth day of Ren’s stay.

Noiz grimaces from Ren’s swipes of tongue on his face. For such a small animal, Ren has a lot of slobber to hand out. Ren huffs a warm breath onto Noiz’s cheek, prodding him with his paw. From their short time together, Noiz has deciphered this gesture as “it’s time to get up!” and it’s something Noiz has already grown to despise.

“I’m up, I’m up.”

Noiz looks at the time. He’d passed out at four o’clock and it was barely past seven. Who in their right mind would be awake right now? Groaning, Noiz rolls out of bed and stumbles into the bathroom. He doesn’t need the extra company while he’s doing his business and shoos Ren out. His stomach rumbles impatiently, louder than normal. He’s been skipping out on a few meals and his hunger has finally caught up to him.

The next stop is to the kitchen. The fridge isn’t empty but everything has gone bad. A repugnant stench permeates in the air. Ren whimpers. Noiz slams the door shut. He’d have to remember to dump everything out later. Another thing he’d have to do, Noiz skims over the condition of his kitchen, is throw out the trash piling up everywhere. The cabinets aren’t any better. All he has are empty boxes.

His stomach makes another sound.

Looking down at Ren, Noiz asks. “Want to go for a walk, Pseudo-Rabbit?”

Ren circles around him, before bouncing to the door.

“Is that a ‘yes’?” 

Still dressed in his pajamas, Noiz and Ren take a short trip to the convenience store. As they walk through the entrance, Noiz takes a basket while Ren is at his heels, panting excitedly. Behind the register, a bored looking pimple faced teen is idly flipping through a dirty magazine cleverly disguised as a manga. It would’ve worked if the cover wasn’t dangling off it. The cashier lowers the magazine and makes a face.

"There’s no pets allowed in here,” he says.

"It's not mine."

"Who cares?” the cashier whines. “Just get rid of it."

Noiz looks at Ren. "You heard the Pimple."

Dejected, Ren's ears flatten and his eyes widen perceptively as Noiz leaves him outside. Noiz throws things into his basket: a bunch of junk food, energy drinks, and instant meals – whatever he can cram in. With the shopping done, Noiz looks over what he's piled in the basket. During Ren's stay at his humble abode, he hasn't really eaten much either. Aoba probably wouldn't appreciate it very much if he fed his dog such unhealthy food. Feeding a dog a frozen bean and cheese burrito wouldn't tide over well. He stashes a small bag of dog food and, Noiz pauses briefly skimming over the shelves, gets a bag of treats.

He goes to the register, where Pimple is still heavily engrossed in his porno mag. Noiz drops his basket in front of him, snapping the cashier out of his daydreams. The cashier keeps shooting him nasty looks as he rings Noiz up.

“I’ll leave you to your light reading,” Noiz says and walks out of the store with his bags.

Aoba’s dog hasn’t left the spot where Noiz last seen it. What an obedient little mutt. Noiz goes on ahead of Ren, knowing by now that Ren will follow him. After a quick trip to the park, (where Noiz ate a bag of chips and Ren gleefully ran in the grass and did his business) they went back to the apartment. Noiz dumps everything on the kitchen table and fixes himself up something to eat. He plucks an empty cereal bowl from the sink, fills it with dog food, and Ren eats with his tail wagging at a hundred miles per hour.

Noiz eats at the table, shoving things off the surface to make room for his laptop. He briefly considers pulling up some porn on his screen. But it’d be weird, even for him, to be jerking it off with Ren next to him.

So, they move over to his bedroom. Noiz stretches out on his bed, gazing blankly at the ceiling. Ren is pressed into his side. Noiz looks over at Ren and though the dog’s being quiet he isn’t asleep. All that energy bubbling up in Ren finally seemed to die down. Sighing, Noiz curls around the dog and pats Ren’s head. Ren exhales loudly and tilts his head back, pink tongue sticking out.

This is so boring.

They both let out another sigh.

For the second time today, Noiz asks. “Want to go for a walk, Pseudo-Rabbit?"

They seem to be the right words to say, because Ren leaps up in a ball of excitement. Just like that, Ren’s recharged and rearing to go. Noiz gets up, bustling through his room to look for some decent change of clothes. Their second walk for the day leads them to the arcade. When the shop came into view, he considered dropping Ren off, but there were actually customers inside. Things seem to be keeping them busy. Plus, Noiz doesn’t want to see anyone, because they’ll ask questions – Aoba will drill him with questions (“How did you find Ren?”) and he’ll be so relieved and grateful that his dog has been returned to him. Clear will ask about his wellbeing, ask if he’s doing alright, why he hasn’t seen him at school, and he’ll be the friend Noiz doesn’t need. Mink will keep acting out of character and Sei will offer him his job back and be all smiles, sun shines and rainbows – he doesn’t want any of that bullshit.

Besides, on the way back he can drop Ren off. No problems there.

Standing at the entrance of the arcade, Noiz rubs at his eyebrow piercing as he looks over at Ren. “I’ll see you later,” he tells the dog. “You can run off. I’m not stopping you.”

It’s ridiculous talking to an animal when you know to expect nothing back. Though, it could be worse. He could be speaking to Ren in an absurdly high-pitched squawk, gushing over every little thing he did (“Oh, you took a shit! What a good dog!”), or shower the dog with endless praise. The people who brought their pets into the shop did that endlessly and it wasn’t a good thing to hear much less see.

Ren’s fluffy tail wags.

Noiz has no idea what that means.

He heads off inside and exchanges money for a cup of tokens. The owner is hesitant to let him stay – Noiz didn’t think he’d have such a problem with seeing someone get a little banged up – but he brings in plenty of money and he’s a regular, which he’s sure is why he hasn’t been turned away. Noiz first hits up a few new games that haven’t been out for too long, before he decides on a multiplayer fighting game. The guy already at the machine easily sweeps victories against the computer and almost seems like he’s worth the time.

His opponent is a sore loser. He cusses and insults Noiz after every loss. When the guy is out of tokens, he demands Noiz reimburse him for causing him unnecessary stress and emotional damage. To get the idiot to shut up, Noiz gives him a couple of twenty dollar bills. It does the job and the guy leaves, but he returns with a renewed vigor and starts a new game with Noiz. Nothing changes and after the guy’s umpteenth lost, his face has gotten as red as a cherry. He’s shaking and kicks the machine, as if it was the source of his losing streak. Noiz walks off to another machine but the guy refuses to let him leave. He’s getting yanked back by his jacket and then, before he can react, gets socked in the face.

Noiz moves his palm over his mouth, glancing at the faint red on his skin. He charges at him, throwing him onto the arcade game. Overall, the fight wasn’t very exciting. Right after Noiz lands his first hit, the guy already lost the will to fight. It was as if this was his first time experiencing a fight outside of the game world. The owner struggles to get Noiz off of the guy, he’s not very strong and from his harsh breathing, it’s taking the middle aged man some great effort to barely make Noiz budge.

The owner demands they leave. “This is bad for business!”

“What business?” Noiz asks, looking around the empty arcade. He drops the guy on the ground and goes to the exit.

Ren hasn’t gone anywhere. The dog’s tail waggles enthusiastically at the sight of Noiz walking out. But Ren’s enthusiasm diminishes suddenly, his eyes narrow, and a low rumbling growl emits from the dog. Noiz raises an eyebrow, puzzled by the dog’s sudden change of demeanor. Ren isn’t looking directly at him. Ren’s glaring at something behind him and then something collides harshly with the side of his head.

Noiz jerks forward, putting his hand to where he’d been struck – the sore loser came back for more and Noiz wouldn’t turn him down.

“Let’s continue this somewhere nice and quiet,” Noiz suggests, kicking the guy in the direction of a dirty alleyway.

Nothing changes. None of the guy’s punches land. He’s nowhere close to hitting Noiz and can hardly stand on his feet anymore. An undignified screech erupts from the guy’s throat, as Noiz knocks some teeth out and blood drools out of his mouth and nose. Ren barks at them the whole time and when the guy tries kicking the dog, Noiz delivers a harsh kick to his side that sends him sailing into the wall. He slumps onto the ground, unmoving and gurgling softly. Noiz digs through the guy’s pockets. He finds his wallet and, just to be fair, looks through the guy’s wallet. There’s isn’t much to see, the guy’s completely broke and only has a condom and some gum.

He doubts the condom will be used anytime soon, so he might as well not let it get wasted. A few blocks away, there’s a bar that’s hidden from prying eyes and houses older men who keep secrets from their spouses. Noiz is one of their favorites, because he doesn’t ask questions and he drinks whatever they gave him and, if they want to have a sense of humor, Noiz laughs – they’re far too lost in their own smugness to notice how forced his laughter is.

Noiz waltz in with the intention to get shit faced. He slides into a booth with a man, dressed in a crinkled business suit, huddling close to a half empty drink. Snug on the man’s ring finger is a silver band. The man acknowledges Noiz, smiling enough that lets Noiz know he’s not unwanted. They don’t exchange a single word. Noiz simply slumps under the table and starts working on the man’s slacks. The man reeks of expensive cologne, cigarette, and alcohol – he takes the man’s length deep into his mouth and closes his eyes, slipping into autopilot.

The man’s mostly quiet, breathing harshly through his nose. He’s nothing like the old man. When he had him in his mouth, Koujaku was like a weeping virgin, getting his dick sucked for the first time. Little things were all it took to drive the old man crazy, to reduce him to a pile of nerves – Noiz barely had to try to get a whimper out of him. There wasn’t much to look at the old man then, while he was whining and blushing and asking through gritted teeth to go just a little faster because he wouldn’t want to outright admit he liked what Noiz was doing. The old man’s voice quivers slightly when he’s having trouble to keep from coming so soon. The man’s breathy words of encouragement share no resemblance with the old man.

Of course, this piece of shit wasn’t Koujaku. He’d never be the old man and that was good. It’s what he wanted, because the old man was just like anyone else. He shouldn’t be allowed to roam into his mind, to trick his brain and thoughts to wallow how moronic the old man looked when he was receiving a blowjob.

Snarling around the length in his mouth earns him a content groan. That groan becomes a strangled scream when he harshly bites down. The man howls in agony, pulling at Noiz’s hair and kicking desperately to push Noiz off. Apparently, he was the only one who preferred a little bit of nibbling on his dick.

Security kicks him out. Before they escort him to the exit, they rough him up a bit, slamming him into walls and wrapping their hands around his throat – he can still feel large hands on his neck, feel the bruises of the fingers sinking into his skin. Noiz catches himself before he loses his footing and almost face-plants the concrete. Noiz nurses his head, tracing at the cut inside his mouth. Of all the things he expects to see, he doesn’t think Ren would be at his feet. Ren steps on his shoe, gazing up at him as if in concern.

Noiz crouches down in front of Ren. “Why are you still here?”

Ren pokes out his tongue, tilting his head.

Releasing a soft sigh, Noiz glances off to the side and pets the weird little animal. “You’re as weird as your owner.”

They take another walk but this time it’s an actual walk. They go to the park again. 

After having to retrieve a stick he’d thrown for the fourth time, Noiz figures that Ren isn’t big on fetching. Ren barks at Noiz when he drops the stick on the grass and leaves it there. He won’t quit yapping until he hurls it across the field.

Either that or the little fluff ball just likes to watch Noiz fetch. 

* * *

He passed out on the grass. 

While he was out, Ren had stuck close to him and made himself comfortable on his stomach. The poor thing must’ve been exhausted from having to run after a twig. Noiz huffs, he scrubs at his eyes, and scrapes at the somewhat fresh cuts on his face. From the lack of people, the eerie silence, and the barely there sunlight – what was supposed to be a nice trip to a park had turned into an overnight stay. Noiz sits up, jerking Ren awake. The dog doesn’t seem to mind and hops off of Noiz.

Ren lowers onto the grass, panting and waiting.

Rabbits weren’t as lively as dogs, were they? He doubts it.

“Do you want to go home?”

Ren barks happily in agreement.

“Glad we can finally agree on something,” Noiz mutters, shaking grass strands out of his hair. 

* * *

At an ungodly hour, Noiz drops Ren off at Koujaku’s doorstep. Impatient, he bangs on the door, his loud knocks accompanied by Ren’s excited woofs. On the other side of the door, Noiz can hear the old man cursing up a storm (“Just a damn minute! For fuck’s sake, it’s four in the fucking morning!”). Despite himself, a smirk curls onto his lips. There's the old man's potty mouth. He shakes his head, forcing on a firm scowl, and drops the dog food and treats next to Ren. Noiz darts off without looking at the dog. He was just in time too, avoiding the door opening and a grumpy old man.

It’ll look good for Koujaku if _he_ was the one to return Aoba’s dog. It would certainly get the old man on his more than good side. Koujaku would be Aoba’s savior, his old man in shining armor who brings back lost animals.

Noiz was never there at Koujaku’s place. 

Nothing could be traced back to him. Everyone would get what they wanted and that’s the end. No one would know he was ever there.

He rounds the corner and bumps into Mink.

Questions flood Noiz’s head at the sight of his former co-worker. It was so early in the morning. What was Mink doing up? Why was he here? What was he doing? Where was he going? What was going on?

Sei had mentioned that Mink had a night job. Mink was dressed in a uniform, some sort of security deal, and had paper bags cradled in his arms. He must’ve just gotten off work. Mink doesn’t say anything, mostly because Noiz notes that he’s staring at his shirt. There’s a splotch of blood on the material and some dirt and grass stains. The bandages on his arms were loose and dotted with patches of red.

Mink wouldn’t do or say anything about this. From what little he knows about Mink, he’d be left alone. Noiz walks right past him but Mink stops him, grabbing onto his wrist. Mink uses the gentlest grip that Noiz didn’t even think he’d gotten hold of him.

“I won’t ask what you’re doing,” Mink says.

Noiz shrugs.

“My apartment is close by.”

Noiz looks over to where Koujaku’s apartment isn’t too far off. “You live near –” he stops and frowns hard at the ground.

Mink’s eyebrows arch but he tugs Noiz towards him before letting him go. “You can redress your bandages there.”

“… Okay.”

Mink doesn’t live that far away from where Koujaku is. He owns a studio apartment. It’s reasonably sized and there’s enough room to move around. Mink keeps his place tidy and he keeps incense burning. It smells like a spring meadow or like some other scented candle with a lame title. Hanging in a corner is an ancient looking bird cage. A bird is quietly perched inside but Noiz can see that the animal has pink feathers and it must be late, because it looks like the bird’s smoking a cigar.

After placing his groceries on the counter, Mink shrugs off his jacket and puts it on a coat hanger. Mink has Noiz sit down at the table, while he fills up a kettle with water and puts it on the stove.

“Remove your shirt.” 

“Didn’t think that’s why you wanted me to come over,” Noiz lifts off his shirt and discards it on the table. He flexes his muscles, casting Mink a cheeky smirk.

Noiz’s physique is fairly decent. Sure, he’s not as bulky or burly as Mink or lean like the old man. But he has the right amount of muscle and slight definition, and without the new bruises littering along his side or the gashes he supposes Mink would’ve given him another look. Mink clucks his tongue as he overlooks the damage on Noiz’s body. He shuffles over to the kitchen cupboards, getting a roll of gauze and a small tube of ointment, before he joins Noiz at the table.

The wooden chair Mink perches in looks like it wasn’t meant for people his size – he sits carefully, as he unrolls the bandages and unscrews the top off the tube. Mink gestures for Noiz to lean forward, applying ointment on his skin. It has a strange texture but a somewhat pleasing scent. As Mink undoes the bandages on Noiz’s arms, his nose crinkles at the untreated wounds scattering over his forearms.

“These could get infected,” Mink tells him. “You should have them checked.”

Noiz decides to look at his lap rather than reply.

The kettle whistles right as Mink finishes. He steps over to teakettle, shuts off the stove, and rustles in his cabinets for a cup. “Tea?” he asks, putting a mug and a container of tea on the counter.

“Not really a tea person.”

Mink shrugs, as if saying “your loss”, and pours himself a cup. Noiz flexes his fingers; the bandages weren’t put on too tightly or too loosely. 

“I’ll just,” Noiz gets up, shuffles his feet, and then inches closer to the door. “Go and… yeah.”

“Take better care of yourself, you maniac,” Mink says.

Noiz frowns. “I’m not a maniac.” 

With that last statement, Noiz heads out into the early morning. 

If Noiz happened to see Clear’s misplaced umbrella propped next to Mink’s bed, he pretended he hadn’t seen a thing. 

* * *

Usually, Noiz wouldn’t bother going into the library. It’s normally cluttered with students, most of which just come with their friends to bum off the Wi-Fi or chill time before their next class. The library is loud and it took him fifteen minutes to find a halfway decent place to sit. Fortunately, he has his headphones to drown out everything and everyone, but the music doesn’t drown out his thoughts.

Just this once, he’ll be a “good” student and go to a few classes. He hasn’t gotten into a fight recently, not since Mink has tended to his booboos and made him all better. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt to skip a day or two. Even after missing so many lectures, Noiz has no problem catching up with what he’s missed. His professors are willing to accept late work and depending on how his work is, they may consider giving him full credit rather than half. Noiz works steadily on his classwork, going through everything as quickly as possible. If he finishes before four, he can rush over to the one professor who has something against technology and dump everything off at once.

Noiz lowers his laptop, bringing his schoolbag over to grab a pen and some papers. Someone rushes over to him, Noiz’s shoulders drop – with Clear popping up he won’t get any work done. Cranking up the volume won’t block out Clear’s voice. He’s tried several times before. Noiz sets his headphones over his neck, raising an eyebrow at Clear expectantly. Clear greets him warmly, but his cheerful smile slips as he looks at Noiz’s condition. Remarkably, Clear doesn’t say a thing about it but Noiz knows he wants to say _something_.

Instead, Clear talks about work. “The shop’s pretty lonely without you,” he says. “You left so suddenly. I feel like we suddenly lost a precious family member.”

“You’ll find someone else.”

“Yeah, but,” Clear pouts. “It won’t be the same.”

Noiz shrugs. “That’s not my problem.”

“I guess so. But just because you don’t work at the shop anymore doesn’t mean we can’t be friends!”

Noiz won’t fight Clear on his mistake. They were never friends. He was never friends with any of them.

So Noiz cracks on a fake smile. “The best of friends,” he says and immediately regrets it, because Clear lights up like a light bulb.

Then, Aoba comes along, holding a tiny stack of textbooks and has the same greetings as Clear – as if they rehearsed it a few times, before trying it out in person. “Hey, Noiz, long time no see!” Aoba looks a little weary about Noiz’s injuries. He puts on a tight-lipped smile. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been better,” Noiz mutters.

“It’s, uh, pretty crowded here, huh?” Aoba says, scuffing at the carpet. “We’ve been looking for some seats and –”

Of course, there were two empty seats at _his_ table and they couldn’t find anywhere else to sit. This was one of the many reasons why he avoided the library.

“Sure, whatever,” Noiz grunts and snaps his headphones on.

He only had a little over an hour before four and his shitty essay wasn’t going to write itself. 

* * *

An unfortunate common occurrence was Clear and Aoba inviting themselves to join Noiz for lunch. It’s annoying, _they’re_ annoying, but Noiz can’t seem to shake them off. Every time he changes the spot where he eats lunch, his former co-workers always somehow manage to find him, as if they installed a tracking chip in him without his knowledge. It’s less of a hassle to let them do what they want, so Noiz gives up. During their forcibly joined lunches, Clear and Aoba do most of the talking. They try to bring Noiz in the conversation, but he brushes off their efforts in favor of his laptop. 

“You should stop by the coffee shop, Noiz!” Clear suggests. “We could have a study session together or something.”

Aoba nods and voices his agreement. “That sounds like a good idea!”

Noiz puts on his headphones and cranks up the volume.

“So, you’ll think about it?” Clear asks.

The coffee shop is a frequent topic. It’s one that Noiz doesn’t care to discuss, but Clear is adamant that he get his job back.

From time to time, Aoba brings up Sei. Aoba doesn’t flat out gush about his boyfriend-lover-boss (not specifically in that order) but he does speak fondly towards him. Noiz can tell that Aoba isn’t telling them everything about some of the stories he tells them.

“I’m _so_ close to convincing Sei to let Ren be the _Cappuccino Princess’s_ mascot!” Aoba says with a determined fist. “I’m so close! I can almost taste victory!”

“That’s what she said,” Noiz gibes.

Speaking of Ren, Aoba’s precious puppy appears to be his favorite subject, especially since his pet has been returned to him. He shows them countless pictures of Ren he’s taken on his cell phone. Tells them what kind of silly thing Ren did. Tells them what specialty brand of dog food gives Ren’s coat that nice shine and makes it so damn fluffy. He tells them everything.

Aoba won’t shut up about his dog.

Noiz almost regrets giving Ren back. Almost.

“Shit,” Aoba sighs as he looks at his phone. “Class is in ten minutes. We better get going if we want good seats. We’ll see you later, Noiz.”

“Right! We can’t be late!” Clear says and gets his things together in a matter of moments. He hops up to his feet, extending his arm out for Aoba to take.

Aoba rolls his eyes but grins and links their arms together. “By the way,” he starts, glancing over at Noiz. “Thanks for returning Ren. It really means a lot.”

Noiz would’ve let it go but . . . he can’t and stops Aoba. “How –”

“Koujaku told me.”

The old man couldn’t have seen him. Noiz’s hand falls limp to his side. “Rabbits are much easier to take care of,” he says. “They won’t run away. Maybe you should invest in a better animal.”

Aoba sputters at Noiz’s suggestion. “No way, I would never –” he grunts and sends Noiz a glare. “It was my fault Ren ran away! Don’t blame him.”

“Is that right?” Noiz asks. “Maybe Pseudo-Rabbit should invest in a better owner.”

“Pseudo-Rabbit?” Aoba repeats slowly. “Who... you don’t mean Ren, do you?”

“It’s Pseudo-Rabbit.”

“That doesn’t even make sense! It’s Ren! Call him Ren!”

“Master,” Clear interjects. He has a light smile on. The corner of his mouth twitches, he’s trying to hold back a laugh. “We’re going to be late!” and he drags Aoba with him as they dart across campus.

“Tell Pseudo-Rabbit I said ‘hi’!” Noiz shouts after them. 

* * *

Noiz drops by the coffee shop for a short visit, a very _brief_ visit. It was sort of unplanned but he did swing by to give his thanks to Mink. If he was lucky, Mink would be working the register _alone_ and he could say his two cents and book it. As he nears the shop, Noiz’s strides gradually slow down until he comes at a complete stop at the entrance. Noiz frowns, unsure of where this sudden wave of disconcert came from. But he continues onward, the chime sounds off as he pushes forward, and Noiz pauses because Sei isn’t in his office.

He’s at the counter and occupied with his tablet.

“Welcome to the _Cappuccino Princess_ , where we capture – oh,” Sei looks up and, there’s no shock, no gasp, no joyous outcry of his unexpected return. All he gets is a smile, like he knew this day would come. “Noiz, what a surprise,” he drawls, his eyes crinkle at the corners and his smile turns catlike. “I don’t suppose you’ve come back for your job?”

Noiz shakes his head.

“Well, if you ever change your mind, just know that you’ll always have a place with us,” Sei says. “That and… we haven’t exactly had many applications.”

“Good to know I’m irreplaceable,” Noiz snorts.

As if on cue, Aoba and Clear are jogging out of the hallway and calling for Sei. Clear’s hopping up and down, unable to contain his delight. Aoba has a plate of cookies. They actually look kind of edible. Clear is the first one to shout Noiz’s name. In an instant, he’s at his side, asking him why he’s here and if he was there to hang out. Aoba is a little careful with his approach, not wanting to drop any cookies. Sei scolds them, telling his staff that they should be working but he still has a smile on.

Clear and Aoba usher Noiz to a table. They shower him with pastries and drinks, anything to get him to stay a little longer. Noiz doesn’t touch anything they give him but he doesn’t leave right away. He works on things for school, still in the middle of catching up, and Clear and Aoba decide they should all sit together. As per usual, everyone else does all the talking but Noiz listens to what they say and sometimes he’ll nod at some things he sort of agrees with. It’s just like lunch and any other time he’s spent time with them.

When it’s time for him to leave, he says his goodbyes and even goes out of his way to say goodbye to Mink, and he knows he won’t be coming back to the shop again. 

* * *

While he doesn’t go back to the shop, Noiz sometimes tags along with Clear and Aoba as they walk to their work. Mostly because it’s on the way to the arcade, so it’s not a big deal. 

Aoba brings up the old man or he’ll part ways with them to head over to Koujaku’s hair salon.

“I’m not getting a haircut,” Aoba feels the need to clarify. “We’re just hanging out. You know, platonically.”

For whatever reason, Aoba also feels the need to ask Noiz if he wants to come with him. Noiz pretends he hadn’t heard Aoba ask him such a dumb thing. Eventually, Aoba rarely brings the old man up anymore before he stops altogether. Noiz doesn’t understand the fuss over the old man. Everyone goes on about him like he’s actually important or serves an important part of society.

When Noiz is not being forced to spend time with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, he drops by Mink’s place. He knows there’s a higher risk of bumping into or seeing Koujaku and most of the time he shows up, Mink is either not at home or he’d woken him up from a nap – Noiz takes his chances. Usually, Mink steps aside with a welcoming grunt and waits for Noiz to go inside. Mink brews them some tea and though Noiz doesn’t care for it, he drinks his cup since Mink went through the trouble. The window in Mink’s kitchen has the curtains closed, but when they’re open, Noiz can see which way will lead him to the Koujaku’s place.

Mink takes Noiz’s empty mug and places it in the sink. “My shift starts in a few minutes.”

“Okay, I got it,” Noiz mutters. “I’ll see you later or… whatever.”

Mink twists the nozzle, water gushes into the sink and dishes clink. “Were you planning on dropping by again? At the shop?” he asks.

“Probably not. I’m busy.”

“Busy?” Mink snorts.

“Yup, I’m totally flooded with work.”

“Surprised you could manage to squeeze in these visits if you have such a tight schedule.”

Noiz tilts his head at the umbrella that hadn’t moved since he’s last seen it. “Clear’s been missing that umbrella for a long time now.”

“Has he now?” Mink says. “Well, he’ll get it when he gets it.”

“I’m sure.”

“I don’t see you wearing that ugly beanie anymore,” he says. “Did you misplace it somewhere, too?”

Startled, Noiz lifts his hand to his head . . . his fingers tangle into his short hair. He’d left his hat at the old man’s place and forgot about it. Noiz forgot about it for days.

“It’s at home.”

“I’m sure,” Mink parrots. “You’ll get it when you get it.” 

* * *

For some unexplainable reason, Aoba and Clear had attended one of Koujaku’s guest lectures on campus. The old man offered free haircuts to a select few. Clear was one of the lucky ones to get picked and he raved about the whole wonderful experience. Noiz zones everything out, it’s reflex by now, whenever they start talking about him.

“Koujaku’s having another lecture next week,” Aoba says. “We should go! His last one was really good!"

Noiz only happens to hear Aoba say this, because he doesn’t put his headphones on fast enough. “What could possibly be so exciting about that? People really will watch anything.” 

“Do you want to come with us Noiz?” Clear asks. “You can see Koujaku in action. You could get picked to get a haircut!”

"I'll pass," Noiz says.

“Well, if you ever change your mind let us know,” Aoba says and turns to Clear. “You’ll _never_ guess what Ren did last night!”

And it was left at that. 

* * *

"Come on, it'll be fun!" Clear urges giddily.

Noiz continues onward, shrugging Clear's hand off his shoulder. "I'm good." 

They’re waiting for Aoba to get out of his last class for the day. Aoba’s class ended a few minutes ago, but Aoba sent Clear a text letting them know he’d take a while, stating that he needed to kiss his professor’s ass a bit. Clear’s not capable of waiting alone, so he begs Noiz to wait with him. Unfortunately, having Noiz there with him gives Clear the idea that they go study somewhere (“It won’t be the coffee shop!” Clear insists) that somewhere is Aoba’s house. Clear rambles on about whoever this Granny person is.

“She’s the best!” Clear says. “She makes the best dishes and she’s so nice and, okay, at first she may seem a little bit –”

At long last, Aoba’s out of the building and jogs up to them. “Sorry I took so long you guys,” he says, somewhat out of breath. “It took me awhile to convince her I needed more time on that stupid assignment but I managed to wear her down!”

“That’s what –”

Aoba thrusts his finger at Noiz’s face. “ _Don’t!_ ”

Noiz positions his hands up in a defensive manner.

“Did you ask him?” Aoba looks over to Clear, who responds with an affirmative nod. “So, do you want to come over? Sei let me borrow the car,” he dangles the car keys in front of Noiz, as if that will be the deal breaker for him. “I promise I’m an awesome driver. I _almost_ got a perfect score on the driver’s test.”

As they keep the conversation going, they start heading over to the parking lot.

Noiz snorts. “I’m sure you did.”

“You don’t believe me?” Aoba grumbles affronted. “I have it lamented on my – I’m pretty sure it’s somewhere in my room!”

“I don’t know, Master,” Clear starts. “I’ve seen you get a bit reckless.”

“That was _one_ time!” Aoba says. “It wasn’t even my fault! Besides, nothing bad happened and no one got hurt.”

Hearing all of this without the whole story does make Noiz a little curious, but it’s probably better not to ask about what happened.

“Well,” Clear hums. “Sei _is_ the one who normally speeds.”

“He is!” Aoba affirms. “He’s way worse than I am. He always calls me grandma for following the rules of the road! Can you believe that?”

“That’s not very nice,” Clear frowns. “Granny is a better driver than both of you!”

“Ye – _Clear_ , that’s not what I meant!” Aoba pushes Clear, who in turn bumps into Noiz. “Um, so, do you wanna come over Noiz?”

“I’m convinced,” Noiz says dryly.

Sarcasm appears to be a lost concept on Clear. “You’re coming with us! That’s great!” he grins brightly and loops his arm around Noiz’s to bring him to the car.

Aoba laughs. “Clear, I don’t think that’s what Noiz was saying.”

“Whenever Master drives I usually sit in the front, but you’re more than welcome to –”

“Sure, sure,” Noiz takes his arm back from Clear. “Whatever.”

Clear opens the passenger door for him and gets Noiz’s backpack. “It’ll be _so_ much fun!”

While Aoba and Clear put everything in the trunk, Noiz gets into the car and buckles himself in. it’s not long until everyone is situated inside the vehicle, Noiz shifts in his seat to stare out the window and his face almost smashes into the glass when the car suddenly jerks forward.

The self-proclaimed awesome driver laughs sheepishly. “Whoops, wrong gear,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean anything! I’m really good at driving! Back me up on this Clear!” 

“Master is –”

“You know what,” Aoba interrupts. “Don’t back me up. Noiz will just have to see it for himself.”

The car lurches forward.

Noiz should’ve never gotten into the car. 

* * *

Aoba is _not_ an awesome driver.

As they pull up to the house, Noiz unbuckles and gets out with the engine still running. His stomach is doing backflips and he’ll never get into the same car as Aoba ever again. Noiz leans back onto the car, forcing his vision to stop swimming around. There’s a hand on his shoulder and Noiz shrugs it off. He veers through his fingers, dropping his hand down.

Clear hands him his backpack. “Are you okay?”

Noiz nods curtly and shoulders his bag. He didn’t want to risk vomiting if he dared to open his mouth just to say a snappy retort. 

Aoba rubs the back of his neck. “Maybe I shouldn’t have made so many sharp turns.” He walks ahead to get to the front door.

The _Cappuccino Princess’_ baker wasn’t by any means innocent. He’d cursed plenty at work. If he sliced his finger, messed up the icing, or if anything happened really. But on the road, Aoba was an entirely different person. If Sei was the fast driver, what the hell did that make Aoba? If Aoba asks if he wants a ride home, he’d downright refuse. There was no way he was getting back into that deathtrap.

Right when Aoba gets the door open, Aoba’s welcomed by a giant ball of fuzz. “Ren, I’m back!” Aoba happily scoops his pet into his arms, hugging him close. “Did you miss me? Did you? I missed you!”

Noiz looks over the house rather than at the blatant displays of affection between a man and his dog. Aoba’s house is simple, enough to house a small family, and is fairly neat. The smell of food wafts throughout the place.

“Should we leave them alone?” Noiz says.

Clear just smiles. 

“Shut up,” Aoba mumbles, he hoists Ren in front of Noiz. “Do you remember Noiz Ren? He’s the one who found you!”

Ren swoops forward to give Noiz sloppy doggy kisses. Noiz grimaces and steps back to get away, but he ruffles Ren’s fur.

Aoba cackles in delight. “He _does_ remember you! You must’ve left quite an impression on him.”

“Pseudo-Rabbit,” Noiz says.

“It’s Ren, you little shit,” Aoba spits out sweetly through his teeth. With Ren still in his arms, Aoba goes off to another room, presumably the kitchen where the delicious smell is coming from. “I’ll let Granny know we’re here! You guys can go ahead to my room. Clear, can you show Noiz the way there?"

"Will do, Master!" Clear says. “Follow me Noiz!”

Picture frames adorn the hallway walls. The majority of the photos are of Aoba in varying ages. What Noiz assumes to be a family portrait has Aoba placed in the center – there’s a man with dark red hair, a young woman with long pink hair (Aoba’s parents Noiz guesses) standing behind him, wearing matching kind grins. There’s an older woman (this Granny Noiz keeps hearing about) who has the same pink hair and a smile that isn’t too big or too small but reveals enough. Aoba isn’t the only child in the photograph. But as Noiz move in closer to inspect, Clear grasps onto Noiz’s shoulders and maneuvers him into Aoba’s room.

Unlike the rest of the Seragaki residence, Aoba has a messy room. Granted, it’s nowhere near as messy as his home but it comes close. Clear tidies things as best he can, making some room by putting some clothes into the already packed hamper. Noiz dumps his things on Aoba’s bed and flops onto the mattress. He punches Aoba’s pillow, beating it a few times, before burying his face into it.

“Hey guys?” Aoba voice carries in the house. It helps that the door was left open. “Can one of you guys help me with the food?”

Clear is on his knees, picking up empty food containers into a plastic bag. “Could you please help Master?" 

Noiz nods, inhaling Aoba’s scent and throws the pillow at the wall. He jumps off the bed, leaps over a kneeling Clear and lands at the doorframe. He saunters down the hall and into the kitchen, where Aoba on the phone and pacing back and forth from one end of the room to the other. Bustling about is a middle aged woman, who Noiz instantly recognizes as the older woman from the Seragaki family photo. There’s a line of plates on the counter. Ren is doing his best to climb up the counter to where the food is.

Aoba hangs up the phone with a wide grin. “Granny!” he chirps, getting some plates. “This is Noiz! Noiz meet Granny.”

Granny glances at Noiz and hands him a plate of doughnuts and cookies and pastries. So many damn sweets.

“Aoba,” Noiz skims over the snacks. “Did you make any of these?”

Aoba’s smile falters. “No. Why?”

Granny’s lips twitch into a light smile. “Aoba isn’t allowed to cook alone in my kitchen. Not without my supervision.”

“Come on, I’m not that bad,” Aoba frowns.

“He’s set off the fire alarm a few times,” Granny says. “I don’t know what Sei was thinking, letting you bake for his little coffee shop.”

“We’re going back to my room now,” Aoba grumbles. “Thanks Granny.”

Silently, Noiz trails after Aoba back to his room. Ren is at his heels, hoping some food will land in front of him. Noiz puts the plates down on the cleaned table and goes back to Aoba’s bed. He goes on his laptop, plugs in his headphones and absently reaches forward to grab a doughnut from a plate. Cautious, he looks over the doughnut and takes an experimental first bite. Aoba only wishes he could make something this delicious.

“So,” Aoba says. “Koujaku called me and told me everything about his lecture. He’s _really_ excited about it.”

“I’m excited!” Clear says. “Koujaku’s a very excellent speaker!”

“Yeah, he’s okay,” Aoba says, smiling.

“He’s passionate about his job. It’s admirable! It makes a lot people motivated!”

Clear blabbers about the old man longer than necessary. Noiz can’t hear Clear’s voice or his shameless verbal flattery, but he can see everything above his laptop. When Clear is really happy, he’ll motion a lot more with his hands and he’ll have a dumb grin. His cheeks are flushed and he can’t sit still. Noiz ticks off the amount of time he sees Clear’s lips form around the old man’s name – it’s one, two, three times too many.

Noiz’s jaw sets firmly, his teeth grind, grind, grind, and why does everyone talk about him, anyway?

He’s attractive but he’s not _that_ attractive.

He’s a decent cook but he’s had better meals cooked at home from the cooks.

He’s okay at kissing but he’s had better.

He’s a loser, a fucking loser who wants what he can’t have.

“If you like him so much, why don’t you just fuck him already?”

There’s a crick in his neck and Noiz presses his nails into it. He doesn’t look up from his keyboard, because he already knows what he’ll see. Clear stopped talking. Aoba stopped listening. Ren nudges at his hand resting on his keyboard. Ren’s wet nose of concern does not soothe him.

Noiz puts his laptop back in his bag and jerks his headphone onto his shoulders.

“Noiz,” Clear breaks the deafening quiet first, wearing an uneasy smile. “I’m sorry if I –”

He walks out in the middle of Clear’s sentence.

There were probably about a million ways he could’ve handled that better. 

* * *

“What do I owe this visit?”

Mink’s hair is as disheveled as ever, not that anyone could really tell with his dreadlocks. He’s in sweatpants and that’s _a lot_ of tanned skin. Mink’s packing plenty of muscles and, though he feels like absolute shit, he drinks in the sight of the half-naked man, because he can’t turn off his hormones. Mink quirks an eyebrow but lifts his hand to cover his yawn. His muscles ripple and Noiz’s mind blanks out.

He should answer Mink at some point.

Noiz kicks at nothing on the ground. “Nothing,” he lies. “I was in the neighborhood and figured I should drop by. Not like you have much company anyway,” after a brief pause, he quickly adds. “Your bird doesn’t count.”

Rolling his eyes, Mink turns on his heels and invites Noiz in with a small wave. The door slams shut and Noiz stays next to it, fingers tapping on the doorknob. It jiggles slightly and doesn’t always stay locked, but with Mink as the tenant Noiz doubts anyone would think to rob him. Mink rifles through his drawer for a shirt.

“Don’t,” Noiz says, as Mink’s slipping into a dark blue tank top. “It’s a nice view.”

Mink shrugs the top on. “Why are you here?”

Noiz slips into the chair he’s claimed as his own. “Do you have anything to drink?” he presses his face into his hands. “That’s not tea and is actually good.”

“If you want something good go to a bar.”

“Last time I went to a bar, I almost bit a guy’s dick off,” Noiz replies. “I enjoyed myself, but him not so much.”

A thump on the tabletop gets Noiz to lift his head from his palms. An unlabeled green bottle has magically appeared before him, thanks to a good man named Mink.

“This is strong stuff,” Mink warns him. “Don’t go crazy.” 

“I’m sure I can handle it.”

Mink pours the contents of a bottle into a glass and slides it over to him. Noiz knocks it back and slides it back for a refill. It burns down his throat and his eyes prickle with moisture. After the fourth drink, the alcohol works its magic and Noiz is taking his time with this glass, taking the tiniest sips and swirling it around his mouth. Mink is a total liar, because he’s had stronger stuff. So what if his tongue is numb and he can’t stop grinning like a lunatic.

“I don’t get it,” he blurts and slumps onto the table.

“Hmm?”

“I mean, you’re hot,” Noiz slurs. “I could totally suck your dick but I’m not. I’m just. Not.”

“What’s stopping you?”

Noiz tilts his head back, glancing at the man in the other chair. Was that a challenge? He could get up and do it, but Mink would’ve pushed him away. He’s flirted with him before and he hadn’t responded to his advances. Mink’s fucking with him. What an ass.

“Do you,” he furrows his eyebrows and licks his lips. “Do you want me to?” was what he’s supposed to say but instead his words come out as: “Do you know the old man?”

“We’re acquaintances,” Mink says. “He isn’t very fond of my hair, keeps asking if I’ll let him ‘fix the monstrosity mutilating my head’.”

“The geezer’s obsessed with hair,” Noiz grunts. “First it’s Aoba, then it’s Clear and now it’s you.”

“Ah.”

“I sucked his dick,” Noiz spills out gratuitously. “We’ve fucked a few times. Let him stick it in my asshole and –”

“Aside from your amazing sexual escapades, what exactly are you trying to tell me?”

Noiz squints at Mink. He’s a giant blob of testosterone and he smothers down a giggle. “I… I don’t know.”

“I think you do know.”

“Know what?”

“It’s really simple. I’m sure you’ll get it eventually,” Mink says. There’s a twinge of amusement in his tone, but Noiz is sure he must’ve misheard it. “Red has hair long enough to put into pigtails. If he had pigtails, would you pull them?”

“What?” Noiz blinks hard at him. “I thought I was the only one drinking. Or did you dip into something else before I got here? If you have something, you should share. Caring is sharing or whatever the fuck it is.” 

Mink shakes his head. “Okay, I have something better.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah,” Mink says. “Go to Red’s lecture. I hear it’s coming up in a few days.”

“I,” Noiz swallows. “I don’t want to.”

“Then don’t go. It’s your choice.”

“Good,” Noiz says. “I’m, I’m gonna go -”

“Go pass out in a ditch somewhere?” Mink finishes for him. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Mink carries him bridal style. As he was being carried across the threshold, Noiz caresses Mink’s biceps and compliments his muscles. Noiz falls onto Mink’s bed like a sack of potatoes. He goes onto his stomach, pressing his face into the pillow – the strong scent of cinnamon swooshes into his nostrils – and heaves a sigh.

“Doesn’t smell like lavender,” he points out.

“Is that what Red smells like?”

“No,” Noiz mutters. “Just his bed sheets.”

Mink huffs a laugh. “I have to get ready for work.”

Noiz closes his eyes. “Hey.”

“What?”

“I wouldn’t pull his pigtails,” he says, because alcohol is not magical and is the worst kind of magic. “I’d rip them out.” 

* * *

On the day of Koujaku’s lecture, Noiz is fifteen minutes late. He stays near the back, standing next to an exit. The stage is lit up enough that Koujaku can be clearly seen. Fashioned close to the podium is a hair salon chair with a built-in sink. The old man got himself a full house and from what Noiz can see, the audience is mostly made up of women. Every time Koujaku runs his fingers in his hair or flashes a smile, a collective sigh echoes in the room. 

Koujaku’s words goes through one ear and out the other. Noiz doesn’t care what he’s saying. He doesn’t give a damn about hair and proper hair care. It hasn’t been that long since he’s seen the old man. He looks exactly the same but he gets so entranced by the old man that he isn’t aware when the lecture is over. Noiz is pulled from his distracted state from the audience roaring into applause and cheers.

Koujaku says something but he’s drowned out by the noise. The audience must know what’s going to happen, since everyone is suddenly raising their hands. It must be the part where someone gets a haircut from the old man himself.

A girl is the lucky winner. 

“She doesn’t even go here!” an outraged woman cries.

The girl rushes over to the old man, practically toppling him over with a swift embrace. Koujaku responds politely, like a true gentleman, and brings her to the chair. First, he washes her hair and applies some crap. He works it into her scalp, the girl moans like she’s got the old man between her legs. After she’s gotten her hair washed, he brushes it with a thick toothed comb and _finally_ starts cutting.

Koujaku knows what he’s doing, working fast and in precisely. His scissors keeps snipping and a majority of the girl’s hair is covering the stage floor. He bolts out of the auditorium once Koujaku is done and to show how pleased she is, the girl pulls him in for another hug, squealing and pecking his cheek repeatedly.

Noiz would’ve shaved her bald.

Lost in his thoughts, Noiz runs into someone blocking his way. He mutters an insincere apology, people should look where they’re going, and rushes on ahead. Noiz needs to go somewhere and the arcade is good enough, it’ll calm him down. The owner should’ve gotten over himself by now and he had money. He always had money. He’d immerse himself in a virtual world, even if it was for a few minutes. Anything would work.

He slams plenty of money on the counter, snatches his tokens, and goes to a random machine.

Mink’s words are on constant replay in his head ( _“It’s really simple. I’m sure you’ll get it eventually.”_ ), but he’s slept with so many people, he doesn’t get _jealous_. He felt so smug, knowing he’s seen what was under the old man’s clothes and that he’d gotten fretted over by the object of their desires.

Yet the moment that girl wrapped Koujaku up in a hug, he visual the most violent things to happen to her – to see her dumb head stabbed onto a pike and –

He gets it.

But Mink is wrong because it’s not simple. He can't. Not towards the old man.

Noiz doesn’t have much time to fuss over this . . . thing.

His head slams into the machine and shards kiss his face. He drops, his body gliding down, before he’s forced onto his feet.

Someone’s screaming at him.

Noiz snorts “You?” when he realizes the screamer was some prick, who kept badgering him in one of his programming classes. He tried his hardest to convince Noiz to do all his work, showing he’d be more than willing to pay him for his efforts.

Getting fed up with the prick; Noiz took his laptop and corrupted everything with viruses. He got a good laugh from it, but the guy didn’t think it was funny. Not everyone could have a sense of humor. Noiz fights back as hard as he can, but his head keeps lolling around, and he can’t focus.

His vision fades in and out before blackness consumes him.

Nothing was ever so simple.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I remember when I thought this would only be like 10,000 words. Boy how wrong I was. Anyhoo, I'm not really happy with this chapter, but gotta keep on, keep on, moving.

Hushed voices ring in his eardrums, suffocate him, and clog his senses. It’s too much at once. The back of his skull throbs uncontrollably. One of the harsh impacts to his head caused him to bite his tongue. Noiz is positive a chunk of the pink muscle is missing.

If he was a normal young man, if he could experience the foreign domain of pain, he would’ve stayed down. But he wouldn’t ever become such a thing. His parents have tried and they’ve failed. Countless professionals have tried and they’ve failed. He didn’t bother to try.

He’s not sure if his eyes are open. His vision is swimming with dancing shapes. It’s like he’s in the middle of a bad trip.

Gradually, the haziness fades and the shapes transform into people clustered close to him. There’s the arcade owner, the three brats, and a few stragglers.

One of the brats elbows another, muttering: “I told you he wasn’t dead!”

“I didn’t say he was dead!” another brat, the girl, complains.

Noiz looks over the crowd gathered around him. The asshole that did this to him was gone. He fled scene like a coward.

“Try not to move around too much,” the owner tells Noiz. “An ambulance is on the way.” he sighs exasperatedly, and runs a palm over his balding head of gray hair. “You’re such a difficult guy. Can’t you find somewhere else to do these reckless things?”

“I’m your best customer,” Noiz grunts. “I could buy this shithole if I wanted. Be happy I don’t.”

That shuts the owner up.

He can’t stay here. Going on that ambulance was the last thing he on his mind. The blow to his noggin must’ve fucked something up in there, because even with everything that had happened . . . the old man is on the brain and this thing, this newfound realization, needs to be figured out somehow. Staying here won’t get him the answers he’s looking for.

Although it takes a great deal of effort, Noiz forces himself up and off the ground. The owner objects to him moving, but he brushes past him and the crowd. His mind set on this thing and what he’s going to do about it.

Traveling such a small distance is like roaming across the globe for Noiz. His body doesn’t respond as fast as he’d like, but his persistence or his stubbornness gets him to his destination. Frankly, Noiz would much rather avoid the place but . . . he’s sure he’ll figure something out here.

For once, Aoba’s not in the kitchen, instead working at the register. The chime sounds – _ding, ding, ding_ – but Aoba, employee of the month for four consecutive months, is favoring the company of his phone. Aoba is alone at the counter. Clear must’ve been assigned to the kitchen and the absence of Mink could mean that he was unloading supplies from the truck. The lack of people is a good thing. Means there’s less people to fuss over him.

Aoba lowers his phone and meets Noiz’s blank stare. “Welcome to the –” he cuts himself off with a horrified gasp. “Noiz!” Aoba practically flies over the counter, gliding to reach Noiz and begins to babble incoherently.

Once Aoba gets a steady grasp of the Japanese language, he hurriedly escorts Noiz to the break room and gets him to sit down.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Aoba says in a rush. “I’m going to get the first aid kit.”

Naturally, Noiz goes against Aoba’s wishes and gets up. His legs are unsteady as he walks over to Aoba’s locker. The lock he’s using a bright blue custom one. It’s nice and fancy and must’ve cost quite a hefty sum. This had to be the fifth time Aoba’s changed his lock. The guy really did value his privacy. Noiz tries a number of combinations. Aoba’s money went down the drain for nothing. He gets it unlocked in under ten minutes. Opening the locker, it’s hard to miss the blown-up photograph of Ren taped in the back.

Noiz starts at his reflection gaping at him. Aoba added a mirror onto the locker door. Decorated on the edges of it are special stickers of Ren. Since he hadn’t had the chance, he looks over his wounds. It isn’t the worst beaten he’s taken but it was enough that it’d take him a few days to completely heal.

Aoba has some text books, some magazines and manga thrown around. Noiz plucks a manga from the pile. It has an ambiguous glossy cover of a half-clothed male with a thick red flowing mane and a scarred chiseled chest. His hands are abnormally large. He could crush someone’s skull with one hand. As he flips through it, the story doesn’t have much of a plot and the protagonist seems to forgo shirts or clothes altogether in most of the pages. Bored, Noiz tosses the manga back and randomly grabs another. It’s a different series but the art is the same. The only minor difference is that it’s a tad more graphic.

Suddenly, the manga is ripped out of his hands and Aoba’s flushed face blocks his view. Aoba is a little shorter than him, Noiz blinks down at him and cocks his head. Aoba hadn’t come back by himself. Sei is seated on the bench stationed next to the lockers. He has the first aid kit on his lap and is rifling inside.

“The art is nice,” Noiz says. “But there’s not much plot. I guess the sex makes up for it.”

“Stop breaking into my locker!” Aoba hisses, hurling his book into his locker and slamming it harshly.

Sei’s laugh echoes in the break room. “Take it easy,” he tells Aoba. “Those lockers aren’t indestructible.”

“Yeah, I know,” Aoba replies sourly, keeping his glare steady on Noiz. “Can you sit down? Please?”

He obliges Aoba’s polite request and hobbles down next to Sei. Aoba takes the spot on the other side of his significant other, taking the first aid kid onto his lap. Noiz studies how well the two get along with each other. Aoba whispers something in Sei’s ear and, in response, Sei bumps their shoulders together. It’s so sickeningly sweet that Noiz has to look away from the gross couple.

He doesn’t get along with the old man. Last time they spoke, or more like the old man tried to talk to him, they ended up getting into a fight. Noiz couldn’t imagine sitting so close to the decaying turd without an ulterior motive behind it. Whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears, profess their undying love to one another and making sweet, sweet love in a dimly lit room with millions of candles while rose petals showered over their glistening sweaty bodies.

They had nothing in common. They knew nothing about one another.

How could this _thing_ have developed out of nowhere?

Sei and Aoba do things without having to verbally communicate. They could read each other’s minds, move as one solid unit.

It was the old man’s dick. It had to be. That was all he was interested in.

“Crap,” Aoba says, forcing Noiz out of his thoughts. “We don’t have any gauze. I must’ve used all of it when Kouj –” he stops, wearily glancing at Noiz. “Um, I’ll be right back. I think we have some more… somewhere.”

“Check my office,” Sei suggests. “There should be another first aid kit in one of my desk drawers.”

With Aoba out the door, Sei and Noiz look at one another in silence. The corners of Sei’s mouth lifts up and form a light smile.

“I see you’ve been having a lot of fun since leaving the shop,” Sei smile widens as he looks over Noiz’s condition. “Is this the reason why you had to quit?”

Noiz overwrites Sei’s inquiry with one of his own. “How long have you two known each other?”

He would’ve been blunt with his approach but . . . he guesses there should be a certain finesse towards this sort of thing. Noiz is curious about the couple. Really, he’s curious about _any_ couple. While he doesn’t necessarily know what he wants from the old man, he would like to know what the fuck is going on between Aoba and his former boss.

Sei raises a thin eyebrow at him. He gives a little headshake, sighing softly, but does answer him. “Aoba and I have known each other for a long time.”

“How long is a long time?”

“Well, we were apart for some time,” Sei recalls. A faraway expression washes over him, as if he was back in that moment. “It was… difficult for us, but since we’ve reunited… I’ve always been by Aoba’s side.”

Noiz slouches forward, propping his elbows on the tip of his kneecaps, and steeples his hands together in front of him. “How do you feel when you’re with him?”

Sei taps his finger on his chin. “Content,” he says. “Like, I’ve found my other half.”

“That’s,” Noiz’s nose crinkles. “Sappy.”

“That’s how I feel,” Sei chuckles. “Not the answer you’re looking for?”

“So,” Glancing at Sei from the corner of his eyes, Noiz drawls slowly. “You’re happy with him?”

“Content does mean happy.”

Noiz presses his fingers against his mouth. That settles it. He was only interested in the old man’s dick, after all.

“Was that all you wanted to ask me?”

Wordlessly, Noiz nods his head.

“Then, you won’t mind if I asked you a few things?” at Noiz’s silence, Sei continues. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. Do you have any siblings?”

“… a younger brother.”

“I bet he looks up to you,” Sei says but his smile dims slightly. At the moment, Noiz isn’t sure what expression he’s wearing. “Are you close to him?”

Noiz glares straight ahead.

He hadn’t thought about his brother in a long time. His kid brother who defied their parents and spoke to him, played with him, and shared his dessert with him. Of course, it was all done in secret. Then came the day Noiz was accepted into the university of his choice. He packed up his things, said goodbye to his sleeping brother, and hadn’t looked back since.

“That’s a shame. Aoba and I are very close,” Sei says. “I couldn’t imagine having such a bad relationship with him. You could say we shared the same womb!” That’s a weird metaphor. “That’s how close we are.”

“Why wouldn’t you two be close?” Noiz asks. “Aren’t you two,” Sei straightens in his seat and looks at him. “Dating?”

Sei stares at Noiz for a long time, unblinkingly, before he dissolves into a fit of boisterous laughter. He keeps laughing, tears roll down his cheeks which are flushed a nice pink. Every time he glances over at Noiz, Sei slaps his knee and bursts into another batch of bubbly giggles. He’s obviously missing something here but, come on, no one likes being the butt of a joke.

“E-Excuse me,” Sei flicks a tear away with a finger. “I figured that’s what the problem was but I – to hear it aloud like that. That’s. Wow. Unbelievable. Ten out of ten, would hear again.”

“What’s so funny?” Noiz demands.

“Didn’t you hear the context of what I’ve been asking you?” remnants of his giggles can be heard in Sei’s tone.

Noiz’s lips fall to a frown. “What about it?”

The door to the break room bangs open and Aoba rushes in. “Okay! I’ve got the gauze! We’re good to go!” he declares and promptly stumbles forward, the gauze falls out of his hands and unrolls across the tiles. Aoba snatches it off the ground and hurriedly rolls it back messily. As he does so, he scowls at Noiz and Sei. “Sei! You haven’t done anything yet! Noiz could be swimming around in germs and did you possibly miss all that, I don’t know, _bleeding_ and –”

While Aoba rambles on worriedly, Noiz figures if he isn’t going to get anything out of Sei, he might as well ask the other half of the shop’s couple. “Are you and Sei dating?”

Aoba squawks like a dying bird. He drops the gauze again. “W-what was that?”

“Are you and Sei –”

“You must be hurt more than I thought,” Aoba says, taking the roll of bandages and dropping it on top of the first aid kit. “Maybe you shouldn’t be talking. Just sit there and, no, what you should be doing is going to the hospital!”

“Are you?” Noiz persists.

Next to him, Sei slaps his hands over his mouth.

“What kind of –” Aoba screws his eyes shut, grinding his knuckles into his temple. “Sei’s my older brother!”

Say what?

“Why would I _date_ my own brother? Could you imagine,” Aoba shakes his head. “I’d rather date Ren!”

Sei clicks his tongue. “You’d pick your dog over your brother? That’s heartbreaking.”

“That’s not, you’re not helping, Sei!” Aoba snaps. “Can we _please_ stop with all this nonsense and tend to the injured?”

This whole entire thing was a . . . misunderstanding. Noiz tries to wrap his head around this. There was this thing and now _his_ thing and the old man’s thing. Scratch that, okay, start over. Sei and Aoba are brothers which means Koujaku was jealous of his – Noiz rakes his fingers through his hair, he scraps his nails into his scalp and – this shouldn’t be this complicated. With Sei and Aoba being siblings, the old man still had a chance. That is, if the old man ever finds out and he would.

“Normally, I wouldn’t butt into my employee’s person life but you don’t work for me anymore,” Sei says. “I can be as nosy as I want.”

Aoba pours some anti-septic onto a cotton ball, bunches up Noiz’s sleeve, and rubs it over a long cut. “Sei,” Aoba says warningly.

“Aoba,” Sei returns mockingly.

“What we should be focusing on is making Noiz better,” Aoba says matter-of-factly. He grimaces when he lifts Noiz’s shirt up. “Yeah, like I said before, the hospital is where you should be. Sei, why don’t you call –”

“I’m fine,” Noiz grits out. “I don’t need to go to the damn hospital.”

“I’ll call,” Sei says. He doesn’t budge. “But first, I have to ask –”

“I don’t think you should butt in,” Aoba hisses. “Now, go use the telephone at the counter or use the one in your office.”

Sei scoffs. “Like you haven’t butt in?”

“I haven’t!” Aoba denies. “That was all Clear! I didn’t do anything!” growing frustrated, Aoba grabs a fistful of his hair. “Sei, come on, let’s just drop this. We’ve got more important things to do right now.”

“Noiz,” Sei starts.

“I don’t,” Noiz says.

Aoba’s eyebrows furrow. “Don’t what?”

“I don’t,” Noiz says.

When Sei furrows his eyebrows, Noiz can kind of spot the resemblance between the two brothers. “… You’ve lost me,” he says. “I was just going to –”

“Where is he?” Noiz interrupts.

“Noiz, I don’t think we should be –” Aoba tries to speak.

“Where is he?”

“Stop asking weird questions, Noiz! This isn't the time for that!”

“Aoba.”

“The old man,” he curses himself for throwing away Koujaku’s stupid business card. “Koujaku, where does he work?”

* * *

The old man’s hair salon is smaller than he expected. The building is bare, without a title displayed anywhere. The location is low key, but Noiz doubts that the old man’s flock of fans would have any trouble finding it. A small sign is next to the door, which reads: _No reservations! If the door’s open come on in!_ Overall, it’s a vague place for a hair salon (not that Noiz knew much about salons), and isn’t very professional at all.

Aoba had insisted he go with along with him, wasting his concern on Noiz. Fortunately, he managed to talk Aoba out of it. Then, Sei had stepped in, trying to take a stab at making Noiz change his mind. It was a tad bit difficult to talk _both_ the Seragaki siblings out of it but he did it. They had to look after the shop, after all.

The door is closed, which according to the sign means the old man’s services are done for the day. But the door isn’t locked. A chirp-like noise goes off when Noiz ventures into the salon.

“We’re closed!” Koujaku calls out. “You’re more than welcome to come back tomorrow!”

Noiz tracks down where the old man is by following the sound of his voice. Koujaku’s back is facing him, sweeping hair into a dust pan.

He takes a deep breath. Here goes nothing. “Old man.”

Koujaku’s head jerks up and he turns towards him. The broom clatters on the floor. His eyes broaden at the sight of him. “Noiz…”

It’s the first time he’s actually heard Koujaku call him by his name. No jabbing nicknames. No insults.

Noiz stumbles over to the closet chair. “Give me a haircut.”

“Forget a haircut!” Koujaku rushes over to him, reaching out to him before he forcibly lowers his arms. “What the hell happened to you?”

He takes in the sight of the old man, as if he hadn’t really seen him until now. His heart isn’t beating faster. His face isn’t on fire. He isn’t exactly happy. Although, there is a slight possibility that Sei’s answers are void now, since he and Aoba weren’t a couple.

It’s a repeat of the shop. Koujaku forces him up, up, up and takes him to another room. He gently pushes him down onto a chair, while he fetches his first aid kit. The old man’s deep in concentration as he cleans the blood off of Noiz. Koujaku disinfects his many wounds – starting to gradually fix him up as best as he could. He works fast, as if he’s done this many times before.

“Take off your shirt.”

“Doesn’t take much to get you in the mood, does it?” Noiz strips out of his shirt, wincing as he brings his arms down.

Koujaku’s eyes glance over him. Noiz shudders, damn the old man and his steely gaze, and a bout of arousal surges downwards.

The old man closes the kit. “Who did this to you?”

“No one worth mentioning,” Noiz plays it off. “He got the worst of it, anyway.”

“Who did this to you?” Koujaku snaps, his upper lip curled in a snarl. His crimson eyes swirl with rage and his finger are gripping down into his thighs. A vein is visible on the old man’s neck. It was tempting to trace it with his tongue but it probably wouldn’t go very well him.

Koujaku pinches the bridge of his nose. He inhales and exhales and inhales and exhales. “Excuse me,” he huffs. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay,” Noiz says. “You’re excused. There’s no need for you to pop an artery.”

“Can you quit that?” Koujaku asks. “You come waltzing in here and – a normal person would go to the hospital.”

Noiz snaps his hand around Koujaku’s wrist. “Do you like me?” the inquiry goes past his lips without his consent.

He can’t take it back.

It’s out in the air now.

He keeps the straightest face possible, but he's never felt so vulnerable in his life . . . this isn't something he does, asking if the old man _likes_ him.

The stillness is the room is agitating.

Koujaku laughs, but it’s strained and uneasy like he’s torn between really laughing or pulling out his hair. “Now isn’t the time for jokes.”

He leans forward, staring at Koujaku dead in the eyes, and waits. No wise cracks or comebacks are coming to him.

“When did we go back to elementary school?” the old man jokes lamely.

“It’s a serious question,” Noiz says. “Please check yes or no.”

Koujaku bites his lip. “Brat, we don’t have time for this.”

“No? Do you… dislike me?”

“I,” Koujaku runs his hand over his neck. “You can’t just spring that kind of question on me all of a sudden!” he groans. “Not when you’re bleeding and about to pass out!”

“Tch.”

He ruffles Noiz’s hair. “You’re an idiot.”

“You’re a bigger one.”

“What about you?” Koujaku asks. “Do you like me?”

Unlike the old man, Noiz doesn’t hesitate and immediately says: “Fuck no.”

“Why you – _you’re_ very funny. All right, you had your fun. Come on,” he lifts Noiz’s arm and drapes it over his shoulder, assisting Noiz as he gets him to stand.

“Let’s exchange numbers first.”

“Now isn’t the time for that!”

“What time is it?”

“Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve been saying?” Koujaku nearly screams. “You’re going to the hospital!”

“What’s with everyone’s obsession with that damn place? I’ve had worse injuries.”

“Oh, wow, excuse me; I wasn’t aware I had a doctor in my presence.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Noiz grunts. “Call me Dr. Noiz.”

“Dr. Brat,” Koujaku adjusts.

“That’s my porn name. Actually, no, I’ve changed it to Dr. –”

“ _Who cares?_ ” the old man yells. “You’re getting your shitty body looked at and you’re going to like it. End of discussion.”

“Okay, _Dad_.”

After Koujaku locks up, they’re still bickering with each other all the way down the street. As usual, the old man is way too easy to rile up. Koujaku has an arm wrapped around his waist, his hand taking hold of his hip. It’s a steady weight on his body; Noiz overlaps the old man hand with his own and pretends he doesn’t notice. If the old man has a problem with it, he doesn’t say anything and if the slight smile is anything to go by – well, he seems to be okay.

Whatever this thing is he has for the old man . . . it isn’t that bad. So far. 

* * *

Even after Koujaku’s insistence, they go to Koujaku’s house instead. He tells Noiz to go to his bedroom, the old man muttering obscenities and complains all the while, and Noiz pads down the hallway and steps into the room. Koujaku tells him to get undressed and then snaps at Noiz before he can make any smart ass comments. Wearing a slight smirk, Noiz does as he’s told. Kojaku throws him some clean clothes, complaining that he’ll leave stains all over his bed sheets, which he’s just recently changed a few days ago.

Though Noiz struggles with tugging on Koujaku’s sweats, thanks to the old man’s long ass legs, he finishes getting dressed in a minimal amount of time. Koujaku looks him over, appraising him as if he’s merchandise in an auction. The old man turns his head, clearing his throat, though his cheeks are pink.

“My clothes don’t suit you,” Koujaku says. “You look stupider than usual.”

“You’re just mad that your old man clothes look better on me than you,” Noiz flops down onto the bed. He nuzzles his nose into the pillow case and narrows his gaze on Koujaku. “… This isn’t lavender.”

“I ran out of it, had to use something else.”

He switches onto his back, gazing up at the ceiling. “It smelt like shit, anyway.”

Koujaku sits on the edge of the mattress, the bed dips from the additional weight of the old man’s big ass. “Did you quit your job?”

Noiz turns his head, quirking an eyebrow.

“I thought you kept changing your shift,” the old man says. "I didn’t see you there anymore, you know, terrorizing customers or ruining their drinks.”

“Were you watching me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, brat,” Koujaku says. “It was just something I noticed. That’s all. Who in their right mind would want to watch an irritating brat like you?”

“Apparently, an old man with a hair fetish,” Noiz nonchalantly quips back. “Who moonlights as a creepy stalker and –”

Something warm covers Noiz’s mouth, the old man’s hand, but Koujaku quickly removes it when Noiz licks his palm. Scowling, Koujaku wipes his hand over his thigh, not bothering to conceal the disgust on his face. “It’s late,” he says. “Tomorrow you’re going to the hospital, got it? No more excuses.” The bed bounces back to normal as the old man gets up.

“Where are you going?”

“To sleep on the couch,” he replies. “I can’t sleep here. We’d just argue the whole night.”

“I wasn't asking if you wanted to stay, as if I'd want to sleep with an old man.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Koujaku scowls but there isn't any malice attached to his words. "Just go to sleep."

Noiz watches as Koujaku head to the door. He flicks off the light and seems to linger near the doorframe.

He wouldn’t have asked him to stay.

His company wouldn’t have changed anything anyway.

* * *

His eyelashes flutter briefly before he opens his eyes. He squints at the ceiling, _Koujaku’s_ ceiling. Noiz shifts onto his side. He’s not quite ready to get out of bed, and his gaze falls onto a mop of dark blue hair next to him. Koujaku was kneeling next to the bed, his head resting on folded arms. The old man’s sleeping soundly, his shoulders slowly rising and falling with every even breath.

“Old man,” Noiz grumbles, roughly shaking Koujaku’s shoulder.

Koujaku doesn’t wake up.

Noiz grabs a handful of Koujaku’s hair and yanks him up. That does it.

Koujaku pries Noiz’s hands off of him, mumbling something inaudible. He lifts his head, blinking owlishly at Noiz. “Is it morning?” there’s a slight touch of gruffness to Koujaku’s voice that Noiz likes more than he probably should.

“Why are you here?”

“It’s not like I willingly stayed here,” Koujaku mutters. “I came to get the spare blankets from my closet and…”

“And?” Noiz presses further. “And what?”

“To check up on you,” Koujaku reluctantly grits out.

Noiz cocks his head, his lips curling into a smirk.

“Wipe that smug look off your face, brat!” Koujaku demands feverously. “We’re going to the hospital!”

“If you were checking up on me, how did you end up falling asleep by my side?”

“No more questions!” Koujaku retorts. “You don’t think I know what you’re trying to do?”

“What am I trying to do?”

“You know what you’re doing,” he says. “We’re going to the hospital.”

Suddenly, Noiz jerks Koujaku to him, his focus on getting his mouth on the old man’s. His brash hastiness causes Koujaku’s jaw to collide with Noiz’s mouth. Koujaku blurts out a curse, which Noiz kindly ignores as he maneuvers his bandaged fingers along Koujaku’s jawline and mashes their lips together. Morning breath puts a slight damper on the kiss but Noiz isn’t going to let something as little as that put a stop to this. Koujaku tastes of cigarettes and booze and he glides his tongue into the other man’s mouth to get a better flavor.

Koujaku moans reverberate against Noiz’s lips and he leans back, gently holding Noiz back by his shoulders. "What are you doing?" Koujaku asks, as if he wasn’t enjoying that kiss they’ve just shared. "You're injured and I, we can't just --"

“Shut up,” Noiz states bluntly, silencing Koujaku once more with his mouth.

The angles of their kisses are awkward, uncomfortable, and a crick is developing in Noiz’s neck. Noiz’s movements are limited due to his injuries. Koujaku lifts one leg up onto the bed, moving around until he’s settled between Noiz’s legs. Noiz cups Koujaku through his pants, insistently rubbing his palm over Koujaku’s clothed dick. He squeezes so harshly that Koujaku hits him, forgetting that Noiz is hurt.

Koujaku seems to remember himself that he handles Noiz carefully, as if he might break if he pushes him too far. He breaks Koujaku out of that mentality by smacking his palms on either side of Koujaku’s face and sinking his teeth into his lips. They make-out, kissing and rubbing until the friction becomes too much. Koujaku takes off his top and carefully helps Noiz out of his clothes. He lowers the sweatpants down enough to take his erection out.

He gapes at his dick. “It’s so… decorated.”

“You already knew that,” Noiz says, because he doubts the old man is forgetful about the handjob and the other times they’ve shared a bed.

“It was dark every time! Sorry if I didn’t get a good look.”

“If you want a good look, why don’t you look closer?” he suggest, nudging Koujaku’s chin with his prick. “It won’t bite but you can.”

Koujaku stares at his dick, as if he’s morbidly transfixed with it. The proper thing to do would be to let the old man do this at his own comfortable pace. He wasn’t the most experienced person in the art of gay sex. Handjobs were one thing. It was sort of like masturbating except for the part where you were handling another guy’s junk. Blowjobs were another. There weren’t many people that Noiz knew could suck their own dick. Watching videos of some guy doing it was one thing. He’d tried to do it once but he wasn’t quite that flexible and . . . that story didn’t have a good ending. Anyway, back to the task at hand.

Noiz slaps Koujaku with his dick.

“What the fuck?” Koujaku fumes.

“Whoops,” Noiz chuckles. “I guess it likes you.”

“I guess it likes you,” Koujaku mocks him in the worst possible impression of Noiz has ever heard. He squares his shoulders, his fingers clutch at Noiz’s waist, and he parts his lips wide enough to take him in.

Noiz shifts, his cock not deep enough in Koujaku’s mouth that it falls out. Koujaku huffs, his breath brushing onto Noiz’s flesh. He lowers his head, but Noiz maneuvers his dick out of the way, purposefully cockblocking himself as Koujaku blindly tries to get his dick back in his mouth. His grip on Noiz’s waist tightens, but he won’t pin him down. Noiz is getting too much amusement from it, mostly because he gets to see how eager the old man wants to take him in his mouth.

Koujaku holds onto the base of his dick, keeping him in place. He leans down, cautiously glancing up at Noiz, before clumsily gliding his mouth down his length. Noiz’s eyelashes flutter as a warm heat engulfs him and a gentle suction starts.

The old man’s technique is sloppy. Given that this is the first dick he’s ever had the pleasure of sucking, that bit of information isn’t a big surprise. Koujaku’s teeth nick him and he’s kind of slobbering all over him. Though Koujaku can’t take him all the way in, what with a shitty gag reflex, the old man makes up for it by jacking him – without warning, Noiz thrusts deep into Koujaku’s mouth. The old man gags audibly, he coughs around him and it casts a slight vibration. Koujaku glares at him but he continues blowing him.

“You’re really bad at this,” Noiz remarks.

He rests his fingers on Koujaku’s nape, idly playing with the old man’s hair. His dark navy tresses are soft and sleek (a hair stylist that has nice hair – what a shocker), slipping through his fingertips like a waterfall. The blinds are cracked open, but there’s just enough sunlight that Noiz can see his cock disappearing in Koujaku’s mouth. His lips are stretched obscenely around him and Noiz tangles his fingers into Koujaku’s hair, bucking into him. Koujaku chokes, tears prickling in his eyes as Noiz bumps into the back of his throat. Noiz lifts Koujaku off his dick until just the tip is resting on his lips and then promptly fucks back into his mouth.

The only noises he can hear is Koujaku’s light gagging and his hectic breaths. He’s being rough with the old man, fucking into his mouth like he’s a cheap whore. But he would stop, if Koujaku bitched enough or punched him. The old man just takes him, letting him abuse his mouth. Noiz grips Koujaku’s hair, yanking back, and savoring the warmth wrapped snuggly on his member. If his mouth is this good, imagine how well, how _tight_ his ass is.

“Old man,” he slows his thrusts, pushing himself down on the mattress. “I’m…” his nails sink into his scalp and he sees white.

He doesn’t give Koujaku any warning, just keeps the old man on his dick and lets him accept every drop. With nowhere else to go, Koujaku’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Koujaku has his jeans halfway down his thighs, his hand working on his cock fast. His eyes screwed shut as he comes white over his fingers.

Noiz’s cock falls out of Koujaku’s mouth. “Okay,” Koujaku says hoarsely, licking his lips. “Let’s go.”

“I’m sleepy,” Noiz says, faking a long exaggerated yawn. “I think I might take a nap.”

“No, you’re not,” Kouaku rasps. “We’re going to the hospital.”

“If you knew we were going somewhere, you shouldn’t have blown me. I can’t move now.”

Koujaku’s face scrunches up. “Are you kidding me?”

“I can return the favor,” Noiz says, his eyes falling onto Koujaku’s softening cock. “We just have to wait for your dick.”

The old man tucks himself back into his pants. “We’re going.”

“How long does it take for it to go back up? The next twenty four hours? If that doesn’t work, just use a Viagra pill or something. I saw the dick pills in your medicine cabinet.”

Koujaku shoves Noiz over, waiting until Noiz rolled onto the other side of the bed before flopping down. Apparently, it was too much work for him to walk around the bed. Noiz gets Koujaku out of his clothes and rests his body on top of him.

“Do you want one or not?”

“Want what?” Koujaku grunts.

“Did you already forget? I’ll blow you.”

“Sure, sure,” Koujaku yawns. “Whatever. My back fucking hurts. Do you know how uncomfortable it is to sleep _next_ to a bed like that?”

“Aww, poor old timer hurt himself.”

“Fuck you.”

“Do you want a blowjob or my ass? You can only have one.”

“Neither.”

“You’re right,” Noiz says. “Your dick would probably fall off like your other limbs.”

Koujaku throws Noiz off the bed.

* * *

Sneaking out of the old man’s house in the early morning (three minutes before five o’clock) probably wasn’t the greatest idea he’s ever had but he was on a mission. To find the bastard who thought he could beat him up and get away with it. Normally, Noiz wouldn’t bother tracking the guy down. He’d been in plenty of fights where he hadn’t fought back, had just started something in a desperate attempt to feel _anything_ and a guy who had a fetish for beating people bloody.

But he couldn’t let this guy think he’d get out of this scot-free. If anything, he almost had to thank the guy for letting him back into bed with the old man. Well, he’d show his thanks by returning the favor with his fists. Noiz searches the streets for any sign of him, coming empty when he visits the arcade, the convenience store nearby, and a few bars college kids tended to frequent. It’s getting close to six thirty. If the old man hasn’t noticed him missing already he would soon.

Of all places he could possibly be, Noiz finds him at the coffee shop. Causing a commotion inside wouldn’t do anyone any good, so Noiz stays outside kicking pebbles across the sidewalk. It shouldn’t take anyone longer than five minutes to order a cup of coffee. It takes the guy a little over fifteen and then he’s flirting with some girl, who bats her eyelashes and twirls her hair. Finally, the guy’s waltzing outside as if he’s king of the world. Noiz saunters right up to him. He’s not going to attack the guy from behind, going for the coward’s way out. He’ll confront the dickwad head on.

“Hey, long time no see!” Noiz greets him, tone sugary sweet.

The cup in the guy’s hands loosens and he almost wears his drink on his clothes. “H-Hi?” he stutters. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you around here.”

“Why’s that? You thought I would’ve been doing something else?” Noiz looks towards the shop. “You like this place?”

“It’s… okay.”

 _“Cappuccino Princess?_ That’s a dumb name.”

There’s a line of customers keeping Mink and Clear busy.

Good.

Noiz plants his foot between the guy’s legs and delivers a blow to his gut, successfully knocking the wind out of him. He probably should’ve accounted that he’d use his drink as a weapon. Most of the piping hot drink misses him but singes his left hand. A pink blotch blossoms on the spot that was scorched. Noiz smirks and runs his hand along the guy’s jacket. He pulls up his zipper and caresses his face with his tongue. The guy reacts accordingly, yelping in distaste, and shoving him back. Noiz regains his footing easily and . . . he loses count after the first few punches.

While the fight continues a crowd progressively collects around them. There are cheers. There are shouts mixed in, telling them to stop. Noiz lands flat on his back, blinking rapidly at the cloudy sky. Things were turning out differently than he had planned. It was hard to carry on the mission when he was losing. He wasn’t even close to gaining the upper hand.

The guy is steadily advancing on him, a murderous intent written plainly on his visage.

Noiz figures he must’ve passed out, because the old man’s shoving his way through the crowd. Koujaku looms over the guy, in a cheap mockery of a predator trapping its prey. He has seen the old man get pissed plenty of times but right now he looks downright _livid_. Without warning, Koujaku clocks him. The guy’s body crumples and as he slumps to the ground, the old man catches him just to knee him.

It was an interesting dream, kind of hot to see the old man beat the shit out of someone.

“Some dream, huh?” Noiz tells Dream Koujaku.

Dream Koujaku growls. “This isn’t a dream.”

Through the commotion, a wild Mink appears, telling everyone to “beat it” and “get the fuck out of here”. His method works pretty well. The crowd disperses in all sorts of directions.

Noiz’s attention diverts from Mink onto the old man, who is clutching at his shirt. “Are you an idiot?”

“My hero,” Noiz drawls wryly.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Koujaku snarls angrily. “You’re already banged up! Did you think the next best thing to do was to get even more banged up?”

Mink works fast.

They’re alone in the middle of the street, leaving them to do whatever. Noiz claps his hand onto Koujaku’s shoulders and kisses him. The lip lock ends prematurely. He goes in for another go, but Koujaku turns away and he gets his cheek instead.

“You’re an idiot.”

“I knew what I was doing,” Noiz says. “I can take care of myself.”

“You’re not very convincing, I could’ve sworn you were losing,” Koujaku mutters. “Get your ass up.”

The old man drags him off the ground and there’s that steady weight again on his waist. Noiz’s head lolls around and he rests it shortly on Koujaku’s shoulder. Just for a second or two. As they walk passed the guy, passed out on the concrete, Noiz hacks a loogie on his hair. Koujaku scolds him but kicks him in the side.

“I had him.”

“You were losing,” Koujaku repeats. “You would’ve gotten your ass handed to you if I didn’t step in.”

“I didn’t need your help.”

“Even if you didn’t, I still would’ve stepped in and I still would’ve bashed his head in,” Koujaku says. “I don’t need some stupid prick hurting you. I’m the only one allowed to fight you and your stupid ass.”

Noiz scowls. His cheeks burn and he feels all tingly and shit. “Where are we going?”

“Where do you think?” Koujaku snaps. “The hospital.”

“Are you still hung up on that?” Noiz grunts. “Let’s just go back to your place.”

“So you can trick me back into bed and do the same thing all over again?” Koujaku retorts. “Fuck no. Someone needs to check if there’s anything left of your brain.”

“I already told you I was a doctor.”

“I’ll drop you. Don’t test me.”

* * *

After suffering through the longest ass-sleeping lecture, Noiz reluctantly gets admitted into the hospital. He gets a private room. The mattress is a little hard on his back, the hospital gown looks stupid. Everything sucks. The diagnosis reveals nothing too serious: a few broken ribs, some cuts and bruises, and a mild concussion. Something Noiz could’ve figured out for himself but he didn’t think the cuts were so bad that they would require stitching.

Koujaku makes it seem like it’s the end of the world. “A mild _concussion_? That can happen?”

The doctor suggests Noiz stay for a day or two. Koujaku butts into the conversation, stating that Noiz would be more than happy to rot away in the hospital. The old man stays with him for the first night, for as long as they’ll let him. Koujaku drones on and on about something Noiz couldn’t care less about, like a grandfather filled with boring stories of their youth. As soon as he’s snug in his back breaking bad, he passes out to Koujaku’s lilting voice.

When Noiz jerks awake, more than several hours have passed and the old man is by his side sound asleep. He wonders if Koujaku will make it a habit, to sleep next to him like that. Noiz wonders if or why he should be concerned that the idea of the old man doing that doesn’t bother him. Aside from the change of scenery, this is like when he was in Koujaku’s apartment, where Koujaku had done the same thing . . . except Noiz doesn’t think Koujaku wound be entirely willing to have sex in a hospital. The old man wouldn’t be up to having a repeat session.

A nurse who periodically checks in on Noiz walks into the room, announcing. “Visiting hours is close to ending in a few minutes. Your friend will need to leave.” She looks at the old man sleeping. “Aww, he looks so peaceful.”

Noiz glances over Koujaku’s face and he wonders if he and the nurse are seeing the same thing. A tight-lipped frown, furrowing eyebrows, and he’s growling – the old man dreams like a dog.

The nurse giggles. “He can stay a little bit longer.”

Noiz plugs the old man’s nose, pinching his nostrils closed. Koujaku sputters, his eyes flying open and flashing red. He slaps Noiz away and glares at him. “Was that necessary?”

“You fell asleep again, old man,” Noiz says. “Did I tire you out that much?”

Koujaku brushes his bangs aside. “I woke up this morning without an annoying brat next to me,” he says. “Most of my energy was spent looking for that asshole. So, yeah, I’m a _bit_ tired out.”

Noiz kicks Koujaku’s arm off of the bed. “Stamina gets worse with age.”

Next comes Koujaku’s jab but the old man cradles his head in his hands. Warning bells sound off in Noiz’s head, because he doesn’t understand. Kouaku is supposed to say something, anything back.

The old man’s shoulders lift up slightly, as he inhales and says: “I’m not in the mood for this shit.”

“… What shit?”

“It’s,” Koujaku’s jaw clenches. “This whole thing,” he removes one hand from his head, waving his arm around in the air. “Whatever it is, whatever _this_ is, it’s really…" he groans, struggling to find a word for it until he finishes with: "Frustrating.”

Noiz swallows. His mouth is suddenly dry. “Frustrating?”

“Yeah, frustrating,” Koujaku confirms.

He doesn’t know where this is all coming from. The old man wouldn’t be turning this whole thing into a _serious_ conversation. They would bicker and argue over petty things, because that’s what they did. But Koujaku wasn’t getting with the program. He was screwing everything up again as usual.

“You insult me and everything I do. You write those stupid unflattering names on my drinks. You throw napkins at me. Invite me out for a drink. Come over to my apartment and then run off. You do all this weird shit.”

Koujaku rests his chin into his palm. “I don’t get you.”

“There’s nothing for you to get,” Noiz says. “I didn’t ask you to look for me. I didn’t ask you to _save_ me. I didn’t ask you to do anything.”

“What was I supposed to do?” Koujaku asks, his voice barely restraint and his volume building up. “Just stay in bed and say, ‘That silly brat, running off all willy-nilly and getting into all sorts of trouble! What a rascal!’”

“Those terms don’t really do well for you age-wise.”

“Did you want to me just stand there and watch you get your ass handed to you?”

“This wasn’t the first time I’ve left out of the blue. You hadn’t looked for me those other times.”

“It was different this time. You never came to me like that. I know kids are dumbasses and do stupid shit. I did stuff like that all the time but... I was,” Koujaku pauses, worrying his lip and his shoulders drops as he sighs. “I was worried.”

“I’m not some damsel in distress. I didn’t need you to come to my rescue, to be my fucking knight in armor,” Noiz says. “No one came to my rescue before and I definitely don’t need that now, especially from someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” Koujaku repeats. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Why did you pretend that you didn’t know I was sick?” he asks. “At the shop, you showed up with soup. You were trying to suck up to me or something. Does that ring any bells? You gave me a pretty shitty handjob.”

“… You left without saying anything,” Koujaku says, softly. “I thought you. I don’t know… wanted to keep things quiet. I know I did.”

“You wanted to keep things on the down low?” Noiz snorts. “I think everyone knew we were getting well acquainted with each other’s dicks.”

“Even –”

“Yeah, even Aoba.”

“I wasn’t –”

“Yeah, you were,” Noiz interjects. “It’s always comes back to him. Don’t even deny it, old man. Denial isn’t very fitting for a man your age.”

“Who cares if it does? Nothing’s going to happen,” Koujaku laughs and Noiz can instantly pick up the bitterness in it. “He’s more than happy with someone else. I’m not going to take that happiness away from him.”

“What a good man you are. So honorable, so kindhearted, so pathetic,” Noiz says, clasping his hands together next to his face and sighing exaggeratedly. “Sweep me off my feet, why don’t you?”

“Look, brat, I – with Aoba, it’s not,” Koujaku says. “I’m not… in love with him. I admit I can get easily attached to certain people.”

“Right,” Noiz nods. “You’re obsessed with him. Stalkers typically confuse obsession with that word. That’s why there are restraining orders.”

“I’m not a,” Koujaku stops. He tries again. “Aoba’s a friend, a really good friend and…”

“We aren’t friends,” Noiz finishes for him. “I don’t want to be friends with a stalker. I don’t think your object of obsession does either.”

“Would you –”

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t care about a lot of things.”

“Hey, I guess you do know _one_ thing about me. Congratulations.”

Koujaku lowers his head, clasping his hands together over his lap. “I think it’d be better if I left. Let our heads cool off.”

“Right,” Noiz nods. “That’s probably the one good idea I’ve ever heard from you. The door’s right there.”

“I’ll come back tomorrow.”

“Don’t bother.”

“Later, brat,” Koujaku says.

The thing wasn't bad.

It was fucking stupid.

* * *

“Some friends of yours are here to visit. Should I let them in?”

By “friends” the nurse must mean the lovely staff from the coffee shop. It was only a matter of time before they wormed their way back into his life. Crowding behind the nurse, Noiz can see the two bubbly idiots. Clear’s face is so close to the window – he’s fogging up the glass and waving excitedly at him. Noiz shifts onto his back, staring at the ceiling. The hospital is a dull place to be. Big surprise there, total shocker really. There’s nothing to watch on the TV and, putting aside the machine plugged into his body, there really isn’t much technology to use that won’t get him berated by a nurse or doctor.

“Whatever,” Noiz says.

Clear is the first one in the room. Aoba and Sei trickle in behind him, going at their own pace. They circle around his bed, each taking a side – Aoba on his left, Clear on his right, and Sei at the foot of the mattress.

“I saw you fighting outside the shop but Mink assured me he had everything taken care of! We were so worried,” Clear says. “We’re so glad you’re okay!”

“I’ve changed my mind,” Noiz says to the nurse. “Don’t let them in.”

The nurse smiles, thinking he’s joking (she must not be a bright one if she finds the old man quote on quote “adorable”) and giggles. That’s all she does really. Smiles and giggles. It’s a wonder she has enough brain functions to do anything else. She leaves the room, closing the door quietly before bounding down the hall to smile and giggle at some other unlucky patient.

“This is nice,” Sei looks over Noiz’s room. “You get your own room but it’s kind of… plain.”

“Well, they ran out of Willy Wonka’s rooms,” Noiz says. “No dancing pastries and singing candies for me I’m afraid.”

“Your loss,” Sei says.

Aoba doesn’t bother with pleasantries. “You’re an idiot.” he unintentionally echoes the old man.

“We can’t all be geniuses like you, Aoba,” Noiz says.

“Why would you do something like that?” Aoba asks.

“Because I’m an idiot,” Noiz answers. “Why else?”

When the door opens again, Noiz expects Nurse Smiley but it’s not her. It’s Mink. The five of them separate into two groups. Aoba, Clear and Sei talk amongst themselves. Mink nabs the chair from Aoba and sits down next to Noiz’s bedside. He sits with his legs spread apart and with such an opportunity given to him, Noiz drops his gaze onto his crotch.

“My eyes are up here,” Mink says.

“I’m a patient in the process of healing,” Noiz counters.

“Looking at my dick will help with that?”

“Yes,” Noiz says. “It should help speed up the healing process.”

Eventually, the three go on ahead but Mink stays a little while longer to chat and mostly to insult Noiz.

Noiz doesn’t mind Mink’s company. Unlike so many people, he’s actually real. He doesn’t sugarcoat anything like Clear. Pout and sulk like Aoba. Or smile and use necessities like Sei. He knows Clear and Aoba mean well but they can be overbearing.

“You and Red left together after your little stunt at the shop,” Mink starts. “What happened after that?”

“Nothing,” Noiz says.

“I see.”

“There’s nothing to see. Nothing happened.”

Mink raises an eyebrow.

“You were wrong by the way,” Noiz says, picking lint off his sheets. “I don’t have a… thing for that piece of shit.”

“I never said you liked Red.”

“You implied it.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. I must’ve been too drunk to remember.” Mink smirks, like the giant bastard he is. His gold eyes flash as if demanding that Noiz do something about his obvious lie.

“Too drunk to remember that we made out?” Noiz questions, settling back onto the headboard and smirking right back.

“We weren’t _that_ drunk.” Mink leans forward, placing his hand on the bed to support himself up. 

Not about to back down, Noiz assists in closing the distance. He’s not sure what Mink’s up to. There isn’t any alcohol on his breath. Just more of that strong cinnamon scent that clung to Noiz’s clothes. Mink must’ve bathed in that shit. “Maybe I’m remembering things differently.”

“Maybe you’re just in denial,” Mink’s breath brushes over Noiz’s lips. With only a tilt of his head, he could see if Mink tastes like cinnamon, too. “Or you’re confusing me with Red.”

Noiz scowls and aborts his efforts for a kiss. “Way to ruin the moment.”

“Not my problem,” Mink taps his pocket where he keeps his packet of cigarettes. “You can’t smoke in here, can you?”

“I don’t give a fuck but they’ll probably kick you out if they catch you.”

“It’s time for me to leave, anyway,” Mink takes out his packet and shakes out two. “Got to go get ready for my other job. Make sure idiot kids like you don’t sneak into the cemetery and break shit.”

“I never did shit like that,” he says, taking a cigarette from Mink.

Mink raises an eyebrow.

“Okay,” Noiz concedes. “Maybe like once when I was high off my ass but I didn’t break anything. Just woke up in an empty grave with a pretty sick watch.”

With a snort, Mink ruffles Noiz’s hair. “Fucking maniac,” he drops some matches onto his palm.

“I’m not a fucking maniac,” Noiz smacks Mink away.

The door opens and Noiz expects the nurse is coming in to keep him company. Noiz peeks over Mink’s shoulder, seeing the old man standing in the hallway and looking very much like a deer caught in the headlights. He looks back at Mink and then evaluates how close their bodies are positions, how it looks like they could’ve backed out from a kiss – a very compromising position to an onlooker. Koujaku seems to shake out of it and he walks into the room, greeting Mink politely. His lips unturned but his smile not quite there.

“I’ll see you later,” Mink departs, nodding in acknowledgement to Koujaku and walking out the door with a cigarette tucked between his lips.

Koujaku doesn’t sit down. Just vacantly stares at where Mink seated moments before. “Since when did you and Mink get so close?”

“Since we slept together,” Noiz says it so casually, like he’s talking about the weather.

“Oh.”

The old man eyelids lower. He stays standing and keeps his eyes planted on the floor. That isn’t a reaction he’d think Koujaku would do. He could clear things up quickly, tell him that’s he lying but he doesn’t. It’s about time the old man felt uneasy about things. Anyone else would’ve done the decent thing and switch to another topic but Noiz wasn’t like other people.

“You know, Mink lives pretty close to you,” Noiz says. “You’re practically next door neighbors.”

“He does?”

“You didn’t know that?”

“I’ve seen him around,” Koujaku says. “I just didn’t think he lived so close.”

Noiz carries on talking about Mink, saying Mink did this and did that. He mentioned his name frequently, because Koujaku’s tended to shift his weight from foot to foot every time.

Koujaku cups his neck, glaring at the floor as if it had insulted him. “Could we talk about something else?” he asks feebly.

“Why?”

"I wanted to –"                  

“Do you have something against Mink?” Noiz questions him. “Is it because he has more muscles than you? A bigger dick? That he can fuck better than you?”

Koujaku bares his teeth. “If you prefer his company over mine, then I just won’t come back!”

“That’s fine with me. I don’t care what you do.”

The door slams and rattles from the old man using more force than necessary. Noiz places the cigarette between his lips, strikes a match, and lights it up.

He tries to blow out rings.

The old man could do all sorts of stupid tricks when he smoked. Blow rings, a smoke bubble, and a heart.

The fire alarm goes off after his fifth puff.

He couldn’t quite form those rings right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will probably edit the shit out of this! 
> 
> Also, next chapter is the last. Huzzah.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how this was supposed to be the last chapter? Well... it's not.

Mink’s hands are enormous. His fingers are long and thick. His knuckles are flawless, void of any scars or imperfections. It’s sensible, completely sensible, that a large man like Mink would have big hands. Though, the real important question here was what _other_ parts of Mink were big?

For Mink, a tall glass of water shrinks down into a kiddie cup. Mink’s fingers fully encase the cup. If Mink applied a teensy tiny amount of pressure, he could easily pulverize the glass into a fine power. Noiz allows his mind to wonder, Mink’s hands encasing something else, wrapped firmly around his length. Mink could probably cover him entirely; cocoon his prick in a loose fist. His daydream drifts and shifts. His imagination splashes an image for him – getting jerked off in the hospital room, Mink’s hand would be a welcome change from his own. His right hand definitely needed the break.

Mink wouldn’t bring him off right away. Noiz is sure Mink knows how to please someone in bed. Would know just the right things to drive him crazy, bring him to the edge of release, but not let him cross the finish line just yet. Transfixed, Noiz watches the large hand steadily pumping him. Mink picks up his pace, loosening on the upstroke and then squeezing.

The hand working him blurs as it moves up and down his shaft. Noiz thrusts into the hand, bucking involuntarily, his body reacting without his permission. Another hand grasps onto his hip, harshly pinning him down, keeping him doing anything like that again. Fingertips press into his flesh, nails sink in, and Noiz encourages the hand for more, more, more pressure. He needs to _feel_ it. Noiz takes his lip between his teeth. He squirms and keeps from kicking his legs out, pressing his back against the bed.

Letting out a broken gasp, Noiz flails slightly, his hand slams onto the one clutching at his hip and he head falls back. He comes in short spurts, the hand keeps jerking until he has nothing else to give. Noiz glances at the hand on his body, the buzz from his post orgasm vanishes as if he hasn’t come at all – the semen on his lower abdomen the only proof – the hand isn’t Mink’s. Neither is the one still encasing his cock.

They’ve shrunken, not too dramatically or considerably, but the pull of fingers suddenly feels eerily uncanny, too familiar. Scars decorate knuckles, in a randomized pattern. His chest aches, as if something has enclosed around his heart. His breathes come into short puffs.

This is the end of his daydream. This _should_ be the ending but his mind continues to wonder, to create such swill to pollute his brain. 

Noiz tears his gaze away, diverting his focus upwards, where he can’t see a thing. Red pools into his vision and Noiz knows all too well how this will go from here.

Those damn red eyes.

An exhale blows past his lips and Noiz realizes his eyes are closed. “… I fell asleep?” he doesn’t receive an answer, not that he was expecting one. After opening his eyes, Noiz turns his head, glancing over to see Mink hasn’t left, hasn’t moved, and hasn’t put down the glass.

He’s hard. The sheets aren’t doing a very good job at covering him up. Mink’s eyebrows crinkle, the corner of his mouth pinches together, as he swirls the water in the glass. He’s far too absorbed with the liquid to notice anything else, much less that his dick is standing.

Mink connects with Noiz’s eyes over the rim of his glass. “Did you have a good dream?”

Okay. Maybe he wasn’t that absorbed.

Noiz grins, unabashed by his body. Popping boners from a dream was a perfectly natural response. “It was great,” he says. “In fact, you were in it. Want to know what you were doing?”

At Mink’s silence, Noiz’s grin falters. He tugs his hospital gown high enough so that he can cup himself over his boxers. “Are you going to drink that?” he asks. “Or keep staring at it?”

Mink’s lips twist to a distasteful scowl. “The water here is disgusting.”

“You have a problem with the water here? I hadn’t noticed,” Noiz looks over at the bedside table, where Mink has already left two glasses on it.

“You’d think the hospital was trying to poison their patients instead of curing them.”

“It’s just water.”

“This is mud, absolute swill. Something you get from swamps,” Mink’s eyes narrow into slits at the glass. He slides it onto the table, almost knocking his other glasses to the floor.

“Why don’t you drink something else then?” Noiz suggests. “Like tea or something.”

“If you could even call that filth tea,” Mink scoffs. “They had the poorest excuse of tea I’ve ever tasted.”

There’s a rap on the door. Two sharp knocks. Pleasantries are unnecessary since the nurse would’ve barged in regardless (it kind of put a damper on the point of a private room). Noiz looks at the hanging clock. It was ten minutes after noon. The hospital stuck with a pretty strict schedule and everyone followed it to the tee. It was lunch time. 

A nurse steps into the room with a tray. Under the sheets, Noiz exaggerates his motions that it’s obvious what he’s doing. The nurse avoids eye contact, though she keeps her composure, and places the tray onto an over the bed table and rushes for the door. Today, lunch is consisted of a sandwich on whole wheat bread (tucked with healthy crap between the slices), a container of salad and a packet of weirdly colored dressing, and dessert.

Mink takes the water from Noiz’s lunch and places it with the others. Noiz ignores everything on the plate, instead opting for the bowl of blue and green Jell-O. He shakes the table to watch the way the colored gelatin shook uncontrollably. Left with only a plastic fork to use, Noiz uses his fingers to plop a cube in his mouth – he crams his cheeks full of Jell-O, while he idly kept touching himself.

“You’re an idiot.”

Noiz chews thoughtfully, swallows, and then says. “Is that everyone’s new catch-phrase?” he plucks the fork from the tray and stabs it into the gelatin cubes. “It’s not that original. You could do a lot better.”

“Dumbass,” Mink stands, knocks the chair off its legs, and leaves.

With Mink gone, Noiz can tend to himself. He hunches forward, removes his underwear enough to wrap his fingers around himself, and starts going to town. Behind his eyelids, he sees red and lavender. He sees lotus flowers and black marks and red kanji. He smells cigarettes, alcohol, expensive shampoo, and lavender. He hears an aggravating voice, insults, and boastful laughter. He hears “Aoba, Aoba, Aoba,” each time the voice carrying a different inclination to the name.

He tastes blood.

His shallow puffs of breaths fill the room. Noiz smears the come off his hands onto the mattress. When the door opens again, Mink returns and reclaims his seat.

“Where did…” Noiz’s inquiry dies off.

Mink has a juice box.

It takes Noiz a few seconds to process this. His climax could’ve played with his brain, but it wasn’t that great of an orgasm. Mink crunches the juice box while he aggressively sips from a red bendy straw.

This is real.

Noiz grasps onto his sides. He’s moving around so much that his stiches are threatening to open – he struggles to contain his laughter, so his laughs come out as stuttering gasps. There’s Mink drinking apple juice. Noiz has never seen anything so beautiful in his life until this moment.

“Oh, shit,” Noiz breathes. “I’m dying.”

“Good,” Mink smashes the juice box. He leaves the straw tucked between his lips and chews on it like a toothpick.

His momentary bout of amusement settles down. Before boredom had any chance of creeping in, he lobs pieces of misshapen cubes at the wall. Unsurprisingly, the Jell-O doesn’t quite have the bouncing effect he wants.

“Stop playing around and eat.”

If Mink thinks the water is an abomination, then he clearly hasn’t tried the hospital’s food. Noiz kicks the table over the side of his bed. Nothing is broken, since the nurse has put everything on a paper plate or in an unbreakable container, but the food isn’t salvageable and the rest of his Jell-O met its imminent demise.

“I have a better idea,” Noiz says. “Let’s fuck.”

Mink pinches at the end of his straw. His eyes crinkles and a gruff chuckle look like a good sign. The older man wasn’t quick to turn down his suggestion. It could only mean that Mink was actually considering the option given to him.

His first mistake was something that could’ve been easily fixed. He shouldn’t have gotten tangled up in the old man’s knots of elderly issues. He should’ve told him Aoba’s correct shift. He should’ve been honest from the start, instead of stringing Koujaku along on some sort of chase to nowhere. If he hadn’t been acting like . . . himself, Aoba and Koujaku could go through their awkward dance of courtship, leaving Noiz out of complications.

He didn’t get attached to people. He didn’t have _things_ for others. It wasn’t how things were supposed to go. There was too much baggage being lugged behind Koujaku and yet he foolishly allowed himself to go against the normalcy he’d gotten used to since he was a child.

With Mink, things would’ve gone a lot simpler. He’s sure of it. It’s not too late to fix things.

Mink lifts the straw, as if it’s a cigarette, and exhales despite having nothing to dispel from his lungs. Noiz digs his fingers into his wrist. He could really use a cigarette. Or even a drink to lift off the edge.

He twirls the straw. “Wouldn’t that be kind of pointless?”

Noiz stiffens, his eyes broaden. No. That wasn’t the right answer. He rubs at his eyebrow piercing. “Sex isn’t pointless.”

“Let me clarify,” Mink says. “It would be pointless for us.”

His confusion must be easy to read, which frustrations him. He’s not supposed to be easily read like that.

“If we were to sleep together,” Noiz listens. He likes where Mink is going with this. “Even if it was meaningless sex, which by the way, I wouldn’t turn down,” Okay, he’s on board. Everything was beginning to shape up. “I don’t want to hear another man’s name in bed.”

“Are you – _seriously_?” Noiz retorts. He’s never said the old man’s name in bed. Gross. He deflates visibly, scratches at a scab on his arm. He automatically assumed Mink was talking about – he frowns. “How is that a problem?”

He’s slept with more than his share, and probably other people’s share, of people and if he was feeling generous enough to tell them his actual name – it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t be his name on their lips, anyway. He was fine with it. They were fine with it. It was fine. Everyone was just looking for another person to fuck. 

“It’s not,” Mink mutters. “I don’t care. I’ve slept with enough people that were attached to someone else. Whether it was that they were rejected or they couldn’t muster up the courage to say anything. But they were strangers. People I could care less about.”

He understands. Of course, Mink would. He was as standoffish as him. “There shouldn’t be an issue then.”

“Believe it or not, brat, but I’m not going to deliberately fuck things over for you,” Mink says. “I’m an asshole but not that much of one.”

“So gag me and you won’t have to hear anything.”

Mink dispenses his straw into one of the glasses. “As tempting as that is,” he pauses, his eyes following as the straw sank to the bottom. “You have something for Red.”

“No, I don’t,” he says slowly. “And even if I did, and I _don’t_ , who cares? A fuck is a fuck. It’s not going to get in the way of anything.”

Mink’s broad shoulders drop. “Admit it or not, it’s not going to magically disappear. Sleeping with me won’t make you feel better."

“Uh, yeah, it will,” Noiz snorts. “You have had sex before, right? I seriously doubt that you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Noiz.”

Hearing his name out of Mink’s mouth isn’t that . . . exciting. It shouldn’t be exciting. Everyone has something, a title, to go by. This was another mistake. He’d gotten used to stupid nicknames and Mink has some for him, but he shouldn’t reflect over something so trivial.

“Fine,” he grits out. “Forget I suggested it.”

“It’s forgotten,” Mink assures him. “But let's not forget that you have something for –”

“No, I don’t,” Noiz cuts in before Mink can finish, and it must be true. It doesn’t feel anything like a lie. He scratches his neck. “Don’t say that out loud. Someone could hear you.”

Mink skims over the room. “Who would hear me right now?” he grunts. “There’s no one here. It’s just me and you.”

“Don’t say anything about it,” Noiz says. “Keep it to yourself.”

“Who would I tell?” Mink asks. “Do you think I’m going to run down the streets, yelling at the top of my lungs that you have a stupid crush?”

Noiz can’t enjoy the ridiculous mental image Mink conjured for him. His ears single out one word which gives him a permanent scowl. “I don’t.”

“Even if I did do that, it doesn’t matter. Everyone knows.”

"Was I that obvious?” Noiz crosses his arms over his chest. “Did I act like a hopeless high school girl crushing on her upperclassman?” he sniffs mockingly and wipes away nonexistent tears. “Will senpai ever notice me?”

Chuckling, Mink shakes his head. “It wasn’t you,” he says. “You know no one really comes to the shop. With only five, well four, people on staff… we tend to know everything about everyone. Or they’ll meddle with your life even if you don’t want them to. You can’t rid of them. There is no secrecy.”

Aside from him and Mink, the other three did tend to get kind of . . . curious about what was going on with everyone. Sei had a subtle approach with things. He pretended he didn’t really want to know things when it was, in fact, the opposite. Aoba wasn’t nosy, he’d ask a few question and then veer off into something else or shout that he’d burnt something for the umpteenth time. Clear was blunt.

“… I guess not.”

“Your first mistake was applying for the job.”

“It wasn’t… that bad.”

Mink cocks his head, the corner of his lips curl slight. “Then why’d you quit?”

“I don’t know,” Noiz shrugs. “I felt like it.” He leans onto the headboard and plays with his bridge piercing. “It was an okay job. It was better than the alternative.”

“The alternative being…?”

“Being bored,” he replies.

“You got a job because,” Mink blinks. “You were bored?”

Noiz snorts. “Why else would I get one?”

“I’d like to think that money is a good answer.”

“Already have enough of that,” Noiz says. “Don’t really need any more of it.”

“Figures you would be a rich brat.”

“Can’t change what I am.”

“That’s good,” Mink says. “Don’t ever change.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“Good,” Mink nods. “Keep being an idiot,” he reaches into his jacket and withdrew a cigarette. He rolls it between his thumb and index finger.

“So,” Noiz starts. “ _Everyone_ knows about each other?”

“Secrets don’t exist at the _Cappuccino Princess_. We’re all 'family',” Mink says and Noiz has a feeling that Mink was trying to impersonate someone, probably Clear, but there isn't really any noticeable changes with his voice. It barely hitches upwards. His voice is too deep and manly to change. "You don't keep secrets from your family."

"That's bullshit."

"Complete bullshit," Mink agrees.

Noiz drums his fingers on his thigh. "You should tell me some secrets."

"You're not part of the family, anymore."

"Then, as a former family member," Noiz amends. "It's only fair that I get to know some secrets."

Mink shakes his head. “I _really_ wish I could smoke in here.”

"Fair is fair, after all. They know shit about me."

With a sigh, Mink puts his cigarette in his mouth. “Alright,” he says. “Who should I start with?”

“Aoba would be a good start.” 

* * *

First place for Noiz’s number one visitor is respectfully split between Clear and Aoba. Typically, the two swing by after they’ve finished classes for the day. By now, Noiz knows to expect them sometimes before three o’clock.

After learning that his stay at the hospital wasn’t anywhere close to ending, the ever-so-helpful Clear asked what Noiz’s schedule was. Clear went out of his way to stop by and talk to each of his professors and to get extensions on his schoolwork. Some professors were more understanding than others. The sticklers took a little more effort, according to Clear, but he unsurprisingly got passed through rough exterior and worked his magic on them. This is how Noiz ends up with a stack of paperwork on his bedside table.

Aoba supplies him with snacks, which are more often than not homemade. Noiz was almost tricked into sampling some of Aoba’s baked goods, but he doesn’t think it’s very likely that stores would be selling burnt products.

Although Clear and Aoba are draining to spend time with, (he can’t keep up with Clear’s cheerful antics or Aoba’s utter kindness) their company isn’t entirely unwelcomed. When it’s just him in this room, Noiz is reminded of home – the room his parents allowed him to use was wide and spacious, but it felt like he was being housed in a closet, a tight enclosed space, as if he was a secret tucked away in a treasure chest no one desired to find and crack open. It’s suffocating.

Noiz prefers to sit in the dark like he’d done back in his room. Clear, on the other hand, greatly disagrees with that.

“It’s so dark in here!” is Clear’s opening complaint. He parts the curtains and yanks the blinds up. Sunlight bursts into the room at full blast.

Noiz holes up under his covers and slams his pillow over his head. “Close it,” his demand is muffed into the mattress, left unheard to his visitors.

“You always do this, Noiz!” Clear whines, trying and failing on getting the pillow off of him. “Quit hiding! Your friends are here!”

“I’m not hiding,” Noiz grumbles against the sheets.

“If you stop being a brat, you can see what we got you!” Aoba singsongs.

Noiz scoffs. “Don’t want it.”

“We got you a present,” Aoba says. “Don’t you want it?”

Aoba’s statement rouses Noiz’s interest just enough that he lowers the pillow from his head. “… Present?”

“What a little kid,” Aoba snorts but his smile betrays his words. He holds out a gift bag, a light green bag, and waits for Noiz to take it.

Noiz sits upright, grabs the bag, and flips it over his lap. A box wrapped in shiny gift wrap falls out. Immediately, the paper gets ripped off, bits and pieces of it falling in the air like confetti, and the box lid is removed and reveals: a handheld game console. It’s the latest model and had been released a few weeks ago. Noiz had made a mental note to purchase one for himself but hadn’t gotten around to it due to . . . distractions. Old man related distractions. Included with the gaming device are several games, which should occupy Noiz for a few hours. Maybe a little longer if he takes his time.

“We all chipped in for it,” Aoba says.

“… Thanks,” Noiz mumbles.

“Master and Sei wanted to get it in blue, but I thought Noiz would like the green one better,” Noiz can practically hear Clear’s grin, never mind the uncontainable excitement oozing off of him. “Do you like it?”

“It’s,” Noiz takes the device in his hand and switches it on. “Nice. Thank you.”

An overstated gasp comes from Aoba. “Would you look at that? You _do_ have manners! I didn’t think it was possible.”

“But do you _like_ it?” Clear inquires urgently.

“Yeah,” but Noiz’s one-worded answer doesn’t seem to be enough to ease Clear’s anxiety. “I like it. Are you happy now?”

“Very,” Clear beams. “The staff of the _Cappuccino Princess_ is the happiest when our customers are the happiest!”

“That was… incredibly cheesy,” Aoba laughs, playfully elbowing Clear. “Was that the best you could come up with?”

“Was it?” Clear’s smiles bashfully and combs his silver locks. He smile widens at Noiz and he mistakes Noiz’s disinterest for curiosity. “We’re trying to come up with more slogans for the shop! Did you come up with anything Aoba?”

“Ah, not really,” Aoba chuckles uneasily, rubbing the side of his neck and glancing off to the side. “’Everything is made with the best care?’”

Noiz is already on the fifth level of his current game and fighting his way past a mini boss. “How about,” he lands a critical hit on his enemy. “’This is as good as it’s going to get’ or ‘you could do a lot worse’. Personally, I like ‘how crowded was Starbucks?’; ‘Leave while you still can’ is pretty good, too.”

After two more hits, the boss goes down and he reaps his rewards from the fight. He got some rare armor, which would definitely help level up his knight.

“Those all stink,” Aoba grumbles.

“Don’t say that, Master!” Clear says. “I’m sure Noiz put plenty of thought into his slogans just like us! They’re just not what the _Cappuccino Princess_ is looking for. I don’t think we’d get many customers with those. I’m sorry, Noiz.”

“It’s okay,” Noiz says with a small shrug. “I’ll get over it.”

“We have work in less than an hour,” Clear reminds Aoba and points at his watch. “We’d stay longer if we could.”

“It’s okay,” Noiz repeats himself.

They make themselves comfortable for the time being. Even with plenty of chairs in the room, Clear chooses to sit on the edge of the bed while Aoba is seated at a reasonable distance. Clear oohs and aahs at everything Noiz does in the game. Noiz has to shove him every time he gets a little _too_ close but allows Clear to narrate. Aoba’s on his phone and his face breaks out into smiles every so often.

“So,” Noiz is on the twelve level, approaching way too fast to the final level. He’d have to take his time with this boss. “Is it true you have a shrine dedicated to Pseudo-Rabbit, Aoba?”

Aoba’s phone falls from his hand. “W-Wha –”

“Master,” Clear says. “I thought you told me that you got rid of that!”

Cheeks flushed pink, Aoba picks up his phone. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“It is true?” Noiz clicks his tongue. “Damn. I owe Mink twenty bucks.”

“Mink told –” Aoba catches himself, scowling. “It’s not a shrine. It’s a –”

“It’s okay,” Noiz repeats himself for the third time. “I don’t need to know. More like, I don’t _want_ to know.”

“Master isn’t a freak,” Clear assures Noiz. “Please don’t think that he is. He just really cares for Ren. He’s such an adorable dog.”

“Clear, _please,_ you’re not making this any better,” Aoba groans. “Noiz, let me explain –”

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, Aoba,” Noiz says. “We’re all family here.”

Noiz dodges Aoba attempts to get the game back from him. He hops out of bed, since Aoba is determined to take his _present_ back, and darts around his room in an absurd goose chase. Clear tries to be a peacekeeper but his efforts are in vain.

Truthfully, Noiz is sort of graceful for the frequent visits from them. He needs a distraction and a game is just the kind of distraction he needs.

Besides, it’d let him take a break from _not_ counting the days the old man hasn’t been visiting him anymore. 

* * *

The hospital has the shittiest security.

Anyone could walk in and out without any medical stall noticing a patient has gone missing. Someone could practically limp past the front desk, going at a snail’s space, and just _go._ Noiz doesn’t know why he hadn’t noticed this sooner. It would’ve saved him a few days of dull misery.

Though the nurses keep track of patients by frequently checking on them more than once per day, there are specific intervals where no one pays attention to the hallway as close as they should. It also doesn’t help that security isn’t assigned to watch Noiz’s floor. Apparently, there aren’t many troublemakers where Noiz is located.

Well, there _is_ one shithead. On the same floor as Noiz, said shithead – a little kid – often sneaks out of his room to wonder around. Noiz hadn’t thought much of it at the time. The kid was stupid and annoying. Every time he went past his room he’d make the stupidest faces through the window in the door, as if he was mocking him for not figuring it out sooner.

But then the kid kept walking past more frequently, until Noiz went to see what the fuck was going on. Why weren’t the nurses stopping that piece of shit? Well, the turd was playing make-belief, pretending he was a superhero and running up and down the hall with a sheet tied around his neck. He’d stop his hero antics to stand by a wide open window and take a few puffs from a joint.

So, if Noiz timed everything just right, he could make his epic escape.

Noiz keeps his eyes trained on the door, waiting for the last nurse to do the last of their rounds. Once everything’s clear, he gets out of bed and is on the move. Not a single sound is heard in the corridor. With how quiet and still it is, the hospital almost seems like it’s been abandoned. Noiz saunters through the hallway, a content smug tugging at his mouth. Freedom was something he’s taken for granted. Really, anything was better than that hospital room he’s been cooped up in for days and days and _too many_ damn days. Nothing or no one ever prevented him from escaping hospitals before. He never let his stay at hospital last longer than a day.

What made things different this time . . . Noiz refused to acknowledge the reason digging at the back of his brain. The old man wasn’t going to come back and that was fine with him. Noiz caught a crushed soda can on the floor. Usually, hospitals were _cleaner_ , essentially spotless, than this but, well, shitty security and a mess?

He kicks the can and keeps kicking it until he gives it a particularly hard kick as he turns the corner. The can takes flight, sailing across the air, and bounces off the wall. Its airborne journey continues a little longer and – 

“ _Ouch!_ ”

Unfortunately ends prematurely. The can smacks into the back of some idiot’s head. Maybe getting hit with the can would knock some sense into his pea-brained mind. Noiz shoves past them, knocking shoulders, and resumes nudging the can forward.

“Are you seriously trying to break out of the hospital?”

Noiz halts, he glances over his shoulder, back over to the idiot. He blinks a few times, sizing the other while the moron rubs where the can hit him. Noiz huffs a sigh, as he turns his body around to fully face him. Out of everyone who had bothered him, it only made sense for the person to catch him to be the idiot who, for whatever reason, was wearing a ridiculous amount of layers – a rain jacket, a sweater, and a shirt with the collar pulled up. A scarf was securely wrapped around the lower half of his face and there were the sunglasses. A bright red cap was pulled over his eyes and he lowered it even further while Noiz scrutinized him.

“Who are you supposed to be?” Noiz asks. “Or is this your stalker gear?”

“Excuse me,” the idiot grunts. “I don’t know you.”

“I’m sure you don’t.”

“Seriously, get out of here.”

“Oh, right, silly me,” Noiz nods. “I was just on my way out.”

After three steps, a hand snaps around his wrist like a mousetrap. “Get back here.”

“Old man, is that you?” he does a double take and then lets out a gasp. “I didn’t recognize you!” Noiz rips the scarf off and carelessly knocks his sunglasses off. Wide red eyes gawk at him. “That disguise is really good. I couldn’t even tell it was your decrepit ass under all that shit.”

“So, you were breaking out.”

“I was discharged,” at Koujauk’s unrelenting glare, Noiz shrugs. “Have you seen how empty it is? I’d hardly call this breaking out.”

He looks around them. “Where _is_ everyone?” 

“Gone,” Noiz says solemnly. “This hospital has been abandoned for thirty years. You’ve been fucking a ghost this whole time. That’s pretty fucked up, old man.”

Koujaku heaves a sigh. “This is… that…” he drags a hand over his face. “You know where your room is. Get going.”

Noiz extends his arm out. “Lead the way.”

“I don’t trust you behind me.”

“Why not?” Noiz asks. "It gives me the chance to look at your ass.”

Koujaku snatches his scarf back and shoves Noiz forward. “Start walking.” 

In a ridiculously short amount of time, Noiz is back in his private room, dressed in his hospital gown, and under sterile bed sheets. The old man sheds his crappy disguise, now wearing a buttoned-down shirt and nice jeans, and is sitting at his bedside. Koujaku’s hat is on his head along with his sunglasses. Noiz lowers the shades on the bridge of his nose, while he puts most, if not all, his focus onto the game in his hands. Not that Noiz is keeping count of the minutes of stillness, but it takes nineteen minutes – because the old man couldn’t make it to twenty – before Koujaku says something.

“I guess I might have maybe... overreacted.” 

Noiz mashes buttons, pressing a little harder on the plastic controls than normally needed. He lets Koujaku’s words hang in the air for a few moments. “You did,” he pauses the game and glances just in time to catch Koujaku’s smile twitch. Using his index finger, he flicks the sunglasses higher up. “But I… could’ve handled everything better. I guess. Probably.”

“Yeah, it was your fault, too.”

“But more so your fault,” Noiz says.

“Not that you weren't a part of, you know, the _problem_.”

"Not that you, _you know_ , helped it. By, _you know_ , overreacting."

Koujaku presses his lips together but says nothing else. Noiz resumes the game. He’s too overpowered that he’s blasting through anyone in his path. Soon enough, he’d be finished with and he’d already beaten the rest of the games. They weren’t _that_ good that Noiz would consider playing any of them more than once.

The old man adjusts his shirt cuffs, shuffles and drags his feet. There’s something more that he wants to say but he’s not letting himself. He wasn’t going to force it out of him. The character on the screen leapt over the edge of the cliff, taking the plunge to where he’d be taken to the final battle.

As Noiz is pummeling the boss with special attack, the old man blurts: “I fucking panicked when you were gone,” he taps his foot, stops, and then taps again. “Couldn’t you have left a note?”

Noiz rolls his eyes. Shockingly, it doesn’t quite get his point across when his eyes are covered. “What would I write down?” he asks, lowering the glasses enough to look at him. “’Left to rip an asshole a new one, be back later’?”

“Anything would’ve been fine!”

“And you would’ve just let it go?” Noiz presses pause and tips his hat back. “You would’ve let me do my own thing?”

Koujaku palms his neck, frowning. “Okay, maybe a note wouldn’t have made that much of a difference.”

"That’s what I thought.”

Koujaku’s hand falls from his neck. The old man is moving way too much. What shoved that steel rod further up his tight ass? “Yeah, well,” he huffs. “I’ll just have to keep a better eye on you.”

Noiz goes back to his game. “You can try.”

“You don’t think I can?”

"Didn’t really do a good job before," Noiz says.

“I wasn’t aware I was supposed to be watching you, since you can take care of yourself.”

"I can," Noiz says. "But you're the one insisting on stalking me."

There’s a beat. It’s the longest second of Noiz’s life.

“… Maybe you need a stalker.”

Noiz stops button mashing. His fingers stills on the device.

“Not that _I’m_ a stalker because I’m not. Stop saying I am you little shit,” Koujaku insists in a flurry of words. He brushes his bangs back, keeping his fingers tucked into his hair that his face is completely exposed. Red is spread over his cheeks and he abruptly lets his bangs fall back into place and drops his head down. “I meant that –”

“Wow, my very own stalker,” Noiz murmurs. “I never thought this day would come. Dreams really do come true.”

Koujaku frowns. “Shut up.”

Noiz glances down at his screen. The words “YOU LOSE!” rapidly flash on and his character has been ripped into pieces. He shuts the game off and shoves it under his pillow.

“Forget I said anything.”

He doesn’t want to forget.

Noiz brings the cap lower on his face. “Old man,” he hates this really. He’s never felt so shitty in his life. He grips onto his sheets, his knuckles a ghost white. “Do you… like me?”

The old man drops his hand over his. His grip loosens. “I –” 

But since good timing is never on Noiz’s side, Koujaku doesn’t get to spit out the rest – a nurse bursts in and fucks everything up, which makes it all the more irritating because there shouldn’t be any nurses around at all.

“Excuse me, sir,” the nurse says. “I’m afraid visiting hours are over. You can visit your friend tomorrow.”

Koujaku takes his hand back. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble,” he turns to the nurse with an apologetic smile.

“It’s alright,” the nurse says. “We just can’t have anyone running around here like this.”

Then why didn’t anyone stop the old man from getting this far?

Koujaku gets his things together, including the hat and the sunglasses. He glances over to the nurse, gives her another smile, and then holds a strip of paper out. “Here.”

“A piece of paper,” Noiz takes it. “You shouldn’t have.”

“It’s my phone number, you assfuck.”

Noiz rolls the strip into a ball. “Why would I want that?”

“You were the one who asked for it.”

“Actually, you asked first.”

“If you don’t want it then throw it away,” Koujaku says. “I’m not forcing you to contact me.”

“Since you’re so desperate, I guess I’ll add your number,” Noiz bends over the bed and knocks his bag over. His phone skids over to Koujaku, who rolls his eyes and hands it to him. He punches the old man’s number in and lists his contact as “Old Fart”.

“Don’t do anything funny with it,” Koujaku warns him.

“Me? What could I possibly do?”

“You really should be going, sir,” the nurse reminds Koujaku. The old man looks at Noiz. “Don’t worry. He’s not going anywhere. He’ll still be here tomorrow.”

Koujaku nods jerkily, the tips of his ears turning red, and is out the door. Using a sweet tone, Noiz curses at the nurse in German – she thinks he’s complimenting her. Or thanking her. Or both. With her out of the way, Noiz mulls over what to do with the old man’s number.

The answer is simple.

He sends Koujaku a picture of his dick. 

* * *

Koujaku is a frequent visitor – almost rivals Aoba and Clear for their spot – only leaving when he has to work. Noiz supposes in another world, he’s making up for lost time but in this world the old man is . . . doing something. Noiz isn’t sure what changed, Koujaku hasn’t specifically set time aside just to drop by to see him. Before their big blow-out argument, the old man wasn’t going to do this, sit by his side for several hours and do nothing.

Noiz pesters Koujaku with countless texts (how he can’t stand how colorless the room is, the harsh sterile stench that burns the insides of his nose, the strange substances the nurse assures him is actual food – Mink was right, they were attempting to kill him – and anything else Noiz finds wrong with the room or hospital in general). He texts him even when he’s right next to him, because it’s pointless and it irritates him, which is all the more reason to keep doing it.

“I’m literally right next to you,” Koujaku had told Noiz repeatedly. “Stop fucking texting me and just say it to my face.”

The old man’s phone vibrates. He can tell Koujaku’s going through an internal struggle not to look at his phone. But he caves and checks the message he’d just sent him, only to snarl and nearly throw his phone at the wall.

All he’d texted him was: _No_.

Noiz’s complaints must’ve gotten to Koujaku, since he starts to bring him pizza, pasta, or sometimes both. Whenever Noiz offers him a slice or a bite, Koujaku politely declines but Noiz shoves the food into his mouth either way. Strangely enough, the old man barely puts up a fight. He automatically accepts every piece of pizza or forkful of noodles Noiz feeds him. When Koujaku finishes his mouthful, he licks the tomato sauce off his lips. Noiz follows the swift movement of his tongue.

“You got something on your,” he shakes his head somewhat and chuckles. “Here. Let me get it." 

Noiz jolts as Koujaku’s thumb swipes at the corner of his mouth. “Wha –”

“You had some sauce,” he tells him. “Maybe if you stopped eating like a slob, you wouldn’t have your food all over your face.”

“Says the douche with sauce on his shirt."

Koujaku looks down at his clothes. “I don’t have –”

A blotch of sauce splatters onto Koujaku’s shirt.

“Now you do." 

* * *

One of Koujaku’s visits includes a gift bag and he looks extra stupid with the grin he’s trying not to show. He eyes the bag, but he can’t really be slick about it, since the old man has it on his lap. He might be slightly curious on what’s inside of it, but he won’t outright ask about it. Finally, Koujaku throws the bag at Noiz.

Noiz sets his game down, stretches his arms out, and then rolls his neck side to side. He’s dragging it out, going as slow as possible. It rattles the old man but he says nothing. He turns the bag over and along with the tissue wrapping paper, a stuffed bunny falls out. It has lime green fur, big floppy ears, and a white and green polka dotted bow around its neck. Black beady eyes and a stitched on smile beam at him. Noiz picks it up by one of its ears.

“I saw your drawings,” Koujaku says. “You had all those rabbit doodles.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Noiz lies and then promptly chucks the gift into the trash bin.

It isn’t until Koujaku leaves that Noiz gets out of bed to get it out of the waste bin. Koujaku doesn’t make a comment on his next visit when he sees it on the stand, just gives him a pleased smile and there’s a slight twinkle in his eyes.

Two days turn into four and Noiz is slowly growing insane. Koujaku assures him he’s being overdramatic, but he’s already chased off two nurses and the old man’s visits are getting shorter and shorter.

“When I get out of here,” Noiz says. “I’m going to pin you against your front door and make you forget your own name. Then we’ll see who’s being overdramatic.”

Koujaku rolls his eyes. “Sure you will." 

“Don’t believe me?”

He hooks his fingers into Koujaku’s shirt collar and hauls him forward to catch his mouth with his. His hands travel up his neck, his fingertips barely touching his skin. He palms Koujaku’s face, thumbs curving around the shell of his ears. Koujaku stops everything, his eyes half lidded and staring at his lips – he breathes, a brush of air touching his mouth.

“What?” Noiz asks.

Koujaku tilts his head forward, wordlessly sealing their lips together. Noiz takes this as permission to carry things farther. He separates Koujaku’s lips, plunging his tongue inside his hot mouth – he’s met with a taste of cigarettes and tea – and he cradles Koujaku’s jaw, keeping it wide open as he closes his lips around the old man’s tongue and suckles on it like a popsicle. Koujaku grunts a complaint, which falls on deaf ears (plus, it was kind of hard to get your point across when your tongue was in someone’s mouth). Noiz pulls at Koujaku’s ears, Koujaku swats at him, but he tugs enough that Koujaku pushes off the chair and he unceremoniously topples on top of him.

He pushes himself up, supporting his weight by bracketing his arms on either side of Noiz’s head. Noiz yanks him back down, searching eagerly for the old man’s mouth. He runs his hands over Koujaku, refamiliarizing himself with the older man’s body. It’s been too long. He grabs onto Koujaku’s ass, squeezing and kneading, urging him downward to grind against him.

Koujaku moans, bracing himself up with one arm around Noiz. His fingers slide down the front of his hospital gown, his hand a furnace on his chest. He angles his head, changing their kiss and Noiz nips at his tongue, repeats this enough that Koujaku returns the favor. Noiz fumbles with Koujaku’s zipper, doing whatever he possibly can to get into the old man’s pants. He has one hand in the front and in the back – his fingers barely slip past the elastic of his underwear but he has a decent amount of ass in his hand. He doesn’t have the best hold on his dick and jacks Koujaku off through his boxers.

Noiz lifts his head, glancing down between their bodies. He pokes his tongue out, smirking at Koujaku. “Comfy?”

“Never been better,” Koujaku flicks one of Noiz’s nipples.

“You’re more than welcome to my dick, too.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that.”

“Should I rephrase that?” Noiz says. “You could use your mouth for something else. Be useful for once.”

“I’m not going to blow you in a hospital.”

“But handjobs are okay?”

Koujaku tugs at Noiz’s gown. “Okay, I get it.”

Something that sounds like a squeak, almost like a mouse, filters in the room. Noiz doesn’t hear it at first, getting off is the better choice than scurrying animals. Koujaku blinks, his mouth is moving but Noiz isn’t listening, he’s occupied with how Koujaku’s lips forms words.

“Did you hear something?” Koujaku asks.

They look to the door, where the source of the squeak – a nurse – is standing there and looking very flustered.

The tips of Koujaku’s ears are red, his cheeks burnt with embarrassment. He starts to get off the bed, off of Noiz, but he refuses to let him go. He noses at his neck, presses light hot kisses to draw him back. It doesn’t work. Koujaku quickly composes himself, tucking his shirt into his jeans and zipping up.

“You have some visitors,” the nurse says. “It seems like you’re busy… should I tell them to come back?”

“Yeah, I’m busy,” Noiz says. “But don’t tell them to come back. Tell them I’m highly contagious or something.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Koujaku says. “Send them in.”

“Hey, I’m the patient here,” Noiz grunts.

The nurse leaves them alone . . . but lets the visitors go on in. Aoba and Clear walk in – their grins slightly loosen, as they look at them, before they glance back at each other.

Aoba scratches at his cheek. “I feel like we interrupted something.”

Koujaku's laugh is a bit louder than necessary. “Don’t be ridiculous, Aoba!”

“You did,” Noiz says.

“We weren’t doing anything,” Koujaku explains. “You guys couldn’t have come at a better time.”

Noiz looks down at the old man’s crotch. “That would be a lot more convincing if you didn't have a boner right now."

Koujaku crosses his legs. “Brat –”

“We could always come back!” Aoba suggests. Who would’ve thought Aoba would be such a prude?

“You don’t have to do that,” Koujaku says. “Come in, sit down.”

Clear, who either hasn’t noticed a thing or chose to ignore it, listens to Koujaku and proceeds into the room. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “We came by to pick up any schoolwork you might’ve finished!”

Noiz taps his chin. “I haven’t started on anything yet.”

“That’s alright,” Clear says. “We could ask for another extension. I’m sure they’ll understand.”

“We’ll come back in a day or two,” Aoba says, keeping close to the door. “And turn in whatever you finish.”

“I’m getting out soon,” Noiz says. “I can turn them in myself.”

“That works, too!” Aoba nods. “Well, we really must be going! I think our parking meter is running out.”

“But Master,” Clear protests. “We still have half an hour left!”

“You two should stay,” Noiz reaches his hand out and drops it onto Koujaku’s crotch. The old man stiffens, his hand snaps around him. “We weren’t doing anything. Isn’t that right, old man?”

“Brat,” is all Koujaku growls out.

“Time’s up!” Aoba turns on his heels and leaves.

“I’m so happy for you two,” Clear says brightly, squeezing both Koujaku’s and Noiz’s biceps. He hops onto his feet. “We’ll see you later!”

“Wait, what are you happy for?” Koujaku shouts after Clear. “What’s there to be happy about?”

The door shuts.

Koujaku doesn’t ease on his grip. “What the hell are you doing?”

Noiz presses the heel of his palm against Koujaku’s groin. The old man’s eyelashes briefly flutter, before he forces himself to focus. “Just because we have visitors doesn’t mean we have to stop,” Noiz says. “Correction, _had_ visitors.”

“I can’t believe you did that,” the old man jaw clenches. “Couldn’t you have handled that better?”

“It got them to leave. Did you not want to look bad in front of Aoba?” Noiz closely watches the old man for any sort of reaction.

Koujaku’s fingers clamp down slightly harder. “… What makes you think I even want to keep going?”

Noiz slouches. He hadn’t realized his body had locked up briefly, just waiting to hear or see what Koujaku would do. “Your dick,” Noiz says simply. “And you haven’t moved my hand.” 

Koujaku’s gaze falls onto Noiz’s hand. “… You’re wrong,” he smacks him away.

“Suit yourself. That doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself.”

“Don’t take your dick out.”

“I’m not.” He has no problem shedding his boxers.

“You are.”

“I’m not.” He wraps his hand around himself and kicks off the bed sheets, so the old man can see what he’s doing.

“You totally are!” Koujaku groans. “At least cover yourself up!”

In the end, Noiz gets his blowjob. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some scenes will be most likely edited.
> 
> Next chapter is definitely the last one!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At a little over 12,100 words, I finally managed to get the last chapter of this exhausting story finished!

At long last, the day has come. Sweet, sweet freedom from this sterilized prison. Right when he was told the good news, Noiz sends a group text to everyone – _Out from slamrs. Stp vsting –_ it wasn’t meant as a nice gesture, just to let the news spread faster, but texts didn’t really do a good job of emphasizing tone.

Barely a few seconds after he sent word out, Noiz gets a reply back from Clear: _I’m so happy to hear that! We should celebrate!_ (∩_∩). A few minutes later, his phone buzzes with a message from Aoba ( _Awesome! Should we do something to celebrate?_ ), followed by Sei ( _Good to hear… Do try to take better care of yourself from now on._ ). Mink sends back a period and then a blank text. It was enough to let Noiz know Mink saw his message. Apparently, Mink wasn’t very big on texting, preferred the ancient method of talking “face-to-face”, whatever that meant.

Its two minutes before a full hour passes when the old man replies. Noiz doesn’t check his phone right away. He waits out the two remaining minutes, punches in his pass code and reads the message . . . though it’s way too short to be considered anything. The old man had written one word down.

_Oh._

That’s it. _Oh._

As in the “Hey, I snuck into a hospital in the world’s shittiest disguise” kind of oh. Or “I expect to be taken seriously when I cut hair for a living” type of oh. Noiz glowers at the single word tainting his screen. That’s all? No cheesy message? No old man bullshit he’d snort and mock him for later? Mink texts had more emotion connected to them. Well, it has been a long time since he’s spammed Koujaku with texts. Now seemed like the right opportunity to change that.

Cutting into Noiz’s ingenious plan is an incoming call. An image of the old man furiously scrubbing tomato sauce off his shirt overtakes his screen. He could hang up on the bastard but, for once, he’ll be “nice”.

Noiz answers the call and puts it on speaker. “May I ask whose calling?” he deliberately lets some of his accent slip into his voice. Let the old man ponder briefly if he’s actually on the phone.

But it doesn’t seem like the old man is easily fooled. “Are you really getting discharged?”

“ _Oh_ , it’s you, old man,” Noiz drawls. “Yeah, I’m free now. Did you not read the message? Or was it too blurry for you to see? Use those glasses your doctor gave you. You know the one with the thick lenses.”

“I saw it,” Koujaku says flatly.

“Then don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he hears some inaudible voices on Koujaku’s end. The old man mumbles something back, his voice distorted and faraway. When Koujaku’s back, he sighs softly. “Sorry, I was talking to a client. I’m working right now.”

“ _Oh_.”

That was why he took so long to answer. He was working hard at keeping those horny harpies entertained.

“… Brat?”

Noiz cups his chin. “Did you say something?”

“You’re not the only one who dislikes stupid questions,” Koujaku grunts. “I asked what time I should meet you.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I’m not repeating myself again.”

Warily, Noiz glances around his room. Of course, no one’s around him and his last visitor – the old man – came in yesterday. The nurses wouldn’t be bothering him again for another half hour. Still, he suddenly wasn’t comfortable with having the old man’s voice echo in his very empty and otherwise quiet room. Putting the call off speaker, Noiz presses his phone to his ear.

“Why would you do that?”

“I’m not busy tomorrow,” Really? The old man didn’t have to tend to any customers? That was hard to believe. “Instead of sitting around in my apartment, I’ll meet you somewhere.”

Invisible strings insistently tug down on Noiz’s mouth. He scratches his wrist and scratches his skin red.

“Hello? Are you still there, brat?”

“Meet me at a strip joint,” he quips. “Bring lots of ones. Sound good, old man?”

Another sigh. “I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

“I didn’t pin you as being such a huge thrill seeker.”

“What can I say?” Koujaku says. “I live for the thrill.”

“Don’t have too much fun,” Noiz says. “Or that old heart will make you drop dead.”

“Well, as thrilling as this conversation is, I have to go. I _am_ still at work.”

“Wait.”

“What?”

“Old man,” Noiz breathes. “I have to tell you something. It’s kind of… personal.”

“Uh, sure,” Koujaku says. He can imagine the old man clutching his phone, his fingers gripping harder than necessary. “What is it?”

Noiz breathes in and out. “Old man, I think I –” he pauses for effect. Then pulls the phone away and abruptly hangs up.

That’ll teach the bastard to send a lousy _Oh_. 

* * *

It takes seven missed calls accompanied with furious phone messages, multiple angry texts, before they reached a mutual agreement. They’d meet at the hospital waiting room. As for what happens after next, well, they’d deal with that later.

Noiz stuffs everything into a backpack – his mountain pile of schoolwork, his game, the dumb stuffed bunny (the stupid thing refused to get all the way in with everything else, one of its big floppy ears sticks out), and the hospital gown (to burn later). The clock informs him that he’s a few minutes late to meet up with the old man, but it’s not like it’d kill him to wait. Slipping on his bag, Noiz breezes out into the hallway and refrains from sprinting through the halls.

He wants to get out fast . . . but if he did that, did that mean he was eager to see the old man? Of course it didn’t. No way. Noiz flicks his hair out of his eyes, but it seamlessly falls back in place. His hair was getting longer than he liked and, unfortunately for Noiz, Koujaku’s noticed this. Koujaku isn’t as subtle as he thinks he is, dropping hints that he wouldn’t mind giving him a trim, like he wants the old man messing around with his hair.

The old man’s easy to find in the lobby of the hellhole. He has a face that doesn’t quite mix in well with the rest of the people in the waiting room. He’s still tall even when he’s seated, the bright lights in the hospital give his navy blue hair a glowing sheen, and he looks _healthy_ , too damn _happy_ as he smiles politely to an elderly woman chatting with, or more like, at him.

Noiz crosses the room, heading straight for the old man, and props his hands on his hip. Koujaku doesn’t notice him right away, far too caught up with whatever the grandma’s spewing. He stares at him, blatantly and incredibly impatient – the exit is practically next to him and the one thing blocking his freedom is a decrepit grandpa chatting up an old lady – but Koujaku is absolutely mesmerized by the hag, his smile spreads minutely and he nods, and these little things encourage the woman to gesture animatedly.

Six incredibly long minutes later, whatever is left of Noiz’s patience has long since fizzled away. He glowers at Koujaku, summoning whatever dark power to smite the bastard. That seems to do the trick, the old man’s eyes flicker over to him. In response, Noiz taps his shoe and makes a show of checking his watch like a parent waiting for their child to finish a hissy fit.

Smile still in place, Koujaku turns back to the woman, he waits until she’s done to excuse himself from the obviously one-sided conversation. Just to show what a good guy he is, Koujaku bows to her before he walks over. To his dismay, Noiz’s annoyance slightly dampens at the smile Koujaku has on. Noiz lowers his gaze, flustered somewhat and fidgets. That dumb curl on his lips is significantly differs from the one he had on just moments before. The old man looks a little too happy right now. When did the old man start getting so happy to see him?

The radiance coming from Koujaku almost rivals Clear’s. “Are you ready to go?”

Noiz can’t look at him directly. His defiance is wasted on the ground. “I’ve been ready.” He was ready days ago, before anyone else realized it.

The next thing to do would be to leave. Instead, the old man runs through a mental check list. “Do you have all your things?” 

“Yeah, I do,” he hooks his thumbs under his backpack straps.

“Did the doctors tell you anything?”

“No.”

“What about the nurses?”

“No.”

“And the –”

“Shit’s been taken care of,” Noiz interjects. “Can we go?” he clicks his tongue ring on his teeth and glances away from the carpet.

The old man’s still beaming and his smile warped into a lopsided grin. “Yeah, let’s go.”

On their way out, Koujaku turns to wave goodbye to his new friend, who returns the sentiment with a brief nod. It turns out their next step is to head to Koujaku’s apartment, so the old man could, as he put it “look after your sorry ass for a few days”. Koujaku plays the whole thing off like it’s nothing, no big deal, not something he does out of the goodness of his heart. But he does complain that it’ll be a chore to take after him.

They walk side by side in companionable silence. Since Koujaku’s making new friends, Noiz makes friends with the cracked concrete. He’s walking close enough to the old man that he brushes against him time to time. A breeze passes by and all Noiz smells are cigarettes and some flowery smell hair products, which easily overpower his poor nose.

It hasn’t occurred to Noiz that he wasn’t obligated to go back with Koujaku. He could go back to his place and lay low – he still had time from those extensions after all and it wasn’t like his professors knew he was discharged – until he decided when to go back to “reality” or as the common folk called it “the real world”.

Instead, Noiz follows Koujaku without any qualms whatsoever. He starts to lag behind the old man so he can kick at his heels. Koujaku lets him get away with it but when he accidently flings his shoe across the street; he has him stay by his shoulder with his hand clamped on his shoulder.

Noiz adjusts his backpack. “Were you flirting with that grandma?”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Koujaku glares at him. “I was being polite.”

“ _Polite?_ ” Noiz repeats sourly.

“Are you aware of the word?”

“There isn’t anything wrong with it,” Noiz says. “It’s good to want to be with people your age. But you might want to lower your standards. She was way out of your league.”

Koujaku’s hand goes from his shoulder to his nape. Letting out a growl, he jostles Noiz downwards. “Stop talking,” he hisses. “Everything that comes out of your mouth is garbage.”

Noiz straightens his back. “I wouldn’t say _everything_ ,” he replies, smirking proudly.

“A sexual innuendo,” Koujaku says. “I didn’t see that coming at all.”

“You keep saying come,” Noiz notes, slowing down to appreciate how nicely Koujaku’s jeans hugged his legs and, most importantly, his ass. “Are you sure _you_ aren’t trying to tell me something, old man?”

“Keep walking.”

Noiz clucks his tongue, gaze following the succulent curve of Koujaku’s behind. “You really don’t want me to look at your ass,” he sighs. “What a shame. That’s like the only part of your nasty body that doesn’t have wrinkles.”

“I should kick your ass,” Koujaku grumbles.

“Kinky,” Noiz grins.

The sun gets a little brighter when Koujaku’s apartment is in view.

Noiz shrugs off his backpack and chucks it at Koujaku. “Race you!” he breaks into a sprint down the street.

“I can’t run in these pants!” Koujaku shouts dejectedly.

Over his shoulder, Noiz shouts back. “Your tight ass thanks you for that!”

Despite the pants, Koujaku does a good job of keeping up with him. Huffing and puffing cigarettes for centuries don’t stop the old man either. Noiz’s arm shoots out, snatching hold of Koujaku’s ponytail and the pained yelp from the old man may or may not have turned him on – that little tidbit aside the only thing that really matters is that he left Koujaku in the dust, which was what he expected from the start. Like the old man would’ve actually beaten him. 

“What a fucking cheater,” Koujaku mumbles as he unlocks the door.

“Someone’s a sore loser.”

After he opens the door, Koujaku throws Noiz’s backpack at his chest. “ _Someone’s_ a fucking cheater.”

Stepping in front of Koujaku, Noiz goes inside first. He drops the backpack on the floor, removes his shoes, and spins on his heels. The old man barely stepped into the entryway, before Noiz tackles Koujaku against the door which promptly slams shut. A grunt comes from Koujaku; his hands fly out and grab hold of Noiz’s shoulders. Koujaku pushes Noiz away and, to that, Noiz pushes him forward.

“Get off,” Koujaku grumbles. “The doorknob’s digging into my back.”

Noiz nips at Koujaku’s chin. “Are you not into that?”

“What, doorknobs?” he asks. “Sorry to burst your bubble but doors aren’t really my kink.”

Grinning, Noiz boxes Koujaku in, using his body weight to press the old man flat on the door. Koujaku grimaces, wriggling under him to ease off the doorknob. “Does that hurt?”

“Of course, it hurts!” Koujaku retorts. “How would you like it if I did this to you?”

“I wouldn’t care.”

Noiz drops to his knees and works on Koujaku’s pants. What better way to celebrate being discharged than a celebratory blowjob? Koujaku shifts over somewhat, pressing his back onto a flat surface and letting out a sigh.

“Seriously, you’re doing this right now?”

“I’m sticking to what I said, old man,” Noiz says. “Are you complaining?”

Koujaku opens his mouth but says nothing.

“I didn’t think so.”

The old man refuses to admit that he’d slightly hesitated when Noiz demanded he tell him his name. 

* * *

Koujaku hovers over Noiz twenty-four-seven.

The old man effortlessly slips into a mother hen mode, making sure he’s eating right (at least three times a day), sleeping at a reasonable hour (impossible), and to do other things but rot away on his laptop (again, impossible). The old man might as well be wiping his ass for him. Koujaku caters to each and every one of Noiz’s needs, even if his needs range from something big (like touching his dick) to something infinitesimally small (like not touching his dick).

While it’s a nice change, Koujaku sudden need to be his caretaker is a nuisance. He was more than capable of taking care of himself. That’s what he’d been doing for all of his life, after all.

But the old man can’t seem to grasp that. Maybe Noiz would let it go if Koujaku hadn’t randomly decided to boycott cock, or more specifically, _his_ cock.

Something Koujaku doesn’t let go is finding out his apartment address. It was an old topic that Noiz thought the old man had dropped ages ago but apparently it wasn’t. Koujaku bitches that he can’t keep wearing the same clothes every day, that his underwear must be filthy, and if clothes are the old man’s only issue Noiz has no problem going nude. Unfortunately, Koujaku doesn’t like Noiz’s solution and, if it’s possible, his bitching increase tenfold. To get Koujaku to shut up, Noiz relents, writes his address down, and slaps the paper into Koujaku’s face.

This is how Noiz ends up talking to the old man over the phone, while Koujaku’s off dicking around at his apartment.

“The spare key should be under the floor mat,” Noiz says. “If it’s not, feel free to break the door down.”

On Koujaku’s line, there’s some rustling. “I found the key,” next, there’s a pause and creaking. Great, his door had that irritating creaking noise again. “Wow,” Koujaku breathes. “You live in a shit hole.”

“Home sweet home,” Noiz replies.

Koujaku snorts. “I’m sure it is.”

Again, there was rustling and foot falls. Something crinkles. “Don’t you ever clean-up?” Koujaku asks. “Wait. I already know the answer to that.”

“Then don’t ask.”

“You have no food,” Koujaku says, slamming and opening cabinets. “There’s trash everywhere and…” an indignant squeal booms in Noiz’s ear and then there’s a thud. Maybe the old man fell on his ass and he was misfortunate enough to miss it. “Holy fucking shit!”

“What’s up?”

“That’s,” he swallows audibly. “That was a fucking – why the fuck – jeez, brat, what –”

“Use your words, old man.”

“You just leave a fucking dildo lying around?” Koujaku seethes. “Ugh, it was fucking wet still. Gross. What the fuck.”

“You… touched it?”

“Under all that shit, it didn’t look like a dick, okay? Get that smirk off your face, brat.”

“I’m not smirking,” Noiz smirks.

He recognizes the brief noise of his sink turning on. Water rushes and Noiz’s mind supplies him with the image of Koujaku furiously scrubbing his hands clean. Too bad he ran out of soap a long time ago. “I’m going to need to saw my hand off. Thanks a lot, asshole. Fuck.”

“Stop pretending that you don’t use sex toys.”

“I don’t.”

The old man’s replies quickly, without any contemplation. Noiz can’t tell if he’s lying. He probably is. He _totally_ is.

“Bullshit.”

“I don’t, brat.”

“What kind of fucked up vanilla sex do you have?”

“I’m hanging up now,” Koujaku says. “I’ll see you back at… uh, home, I guess.”

Noiz doesn’t let himself dwell on the old man’s phrasing. Home as in _our_ home? He won’t open that can of worms. Not now. Not ever. Nope. Not thinking about it. “I’ll totally find some freaky shit if I look around, right?” he says. “Like, a secret sex dungeon with a cage made of sparkly dildos?”

“You won’t find anything,” with that, the old man ends the call.

About twenty minutes later, Koujaku returns with a cardboard box fittingly labeled “Brat’s Shit”. He drops the box next to Noiz, where he’s nestled in the old man’s bed. Noiz rips the flaps open. The old man brought him enough clothes to last him a few days, his laptop, and some other crap he’s thrown in there. Noiz digs his hands into his box of crap and throws things around on the floor or anywhere else.

“Could you stop making a mess?”

“Don’t worry, I have a maid,” Noiz says. “He’ll clean that up.”

“… I’m not your maid.”

“If you wore a uniform, you could be.”

“Well, shit, now I’m convinced,” Koujaku huffs wryly.

When Noiz reaches the bottom of the box, he kicks it off the bed. Whatever he hadn’t taken out or tossed spills over the floor. “You didn’t bring them.”

“Bring what?”

“My toys,” he says. “I have a box of them. It’s not hard to miss. I leave it out in the open for easy access.”

Koujaku rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

“What a shitty maid.”

“Did you find anything?” Koujaku asks, eyeing his room.

“I haven’t looked yet.”

“You won’t find anything.”

“We’ll see about that.” 

* * *

With the old man away at work, there isn’t really much to do. His laptop certainly comes in handy (why didn’t he have it at the hospital?) but it just isn’t enough. His present is useless without any new games. The games he does have, he’s overplayed so many times that he can’t stand to look at them. Going outside doesn’t seem to be a valid option . . . not for a few more days at least. He could be a good student and work on schoolwork but then he couldn’t keep pushing it off to do later.

And just like that, boredom returns at full force.

So, Noiz snoops around the apartment. The last few times he’s stayed over, he hadn’t really looked at anything. Little things like alcohol, illnesses, and sex got in the way of looking over interior decorating.

The old man has a nice place. The apartment has two rooms, the master bedroom and the second room appears to be used as a storage room. There isn’t much inside but boxes. Some were labeled and some weren’t. Judging from the hair salon chair, the old man must’ve had this room as his temporary hair salon.

Noiz looks around in Koujaku’s room. His drawers don’t have anything interesting stashed inside. No drugs, no sex toys (the bastard was right), no lacy underwear – a total bore, really. Next, Noiz goes for the closet. He rifles through bed sheets and more clothes. Once again, there isn’t much to look at but the old man sure was proud of his Japanese heritage. Koujaku had a collection of kimonos (all of vibrant colors, intricate designs and patterns), cases containing Japanese swords, scrolls, and bamboo umbrellas.

The bottom of the closet has a loose floorboard that reveals a hidden compartment. _Now, we’re talking._ Biting down a smug smirk, Noiz looks inside and stumbles upon a black box. Maybe there was something interesting to find in this little thing. Noiz unboxes it and sees . . . no sex toys. The old man was unbelievably tame, plain ass vanilla. The box just has a bunch of photographs, all from the old man’s younger days.

He looks to be about fourteen or fifteen years old. He’s tattoo free and has a youthful glint in his red eyes. With his hair short, you can see his whole face. Looks like it was happier times for the old man (sometimes Noiz forgets that one’s childhood could be a happy time). In one photo, Koujaku’s dressed in a red kimono. He’s smiling with a woman Noiz presumes to be his mother. Written on each photo is a date and nothing else.

“Boring,” Noiz drones and starts to put everything away.

He flops on top of Koujaku’s bed, inhales Koujaku’s pillow and sheets and wonders when he switched back to lavender. Noiz glances at the clock. It would be hours before Koujaku usually got home. Throughout the day, Noiz has texted him and hasn’t received anything in return. No surprise there. Cutting hair was the old man’s main priority.

Noiz tells Koujaku how bored he is. Then he tells him he went through his shit and might have maybe broken a few things (a flat out lie, he was as careful as he could possibly be with the old man’s shit), masturbated on his bed in his clothes and left a bunch of stains. When all that fails, Noiz says that he started a fire in his kitchen and clogged the toilet with his hair products.

All of that earns him nothing. 

Heaving himself off the bed, Noiz paces to and fro, continuing spamming Koujaku’s inbox. The old man would have to answer him eventually. At the foot of the bed, Noiz notices something poking out from under the mattress. Noiz crotches and picks whatever that something was off the floor.

It was his beanie. 

Noiz tosses the hat up and catches it. Using his other hand, he types out on his phone: _i mis ur dick_ and sends it.

It was the magical message, since Koujaku finally answers back in three separate texts. _I get it already. I’m on my way. Stop texting me._

_Brng piza_

The reply was immediate. _No._

_Brng pizza or i wont let u in_

_I have the fucking key._

_chnged locks whle u werre outt_

_Bullshit._

_Brng paste then_

Fucking autocorrect. 

 _Pas_ _ta* fck_

**_NO._ **

_K._

_Good._

_fnd new place 2 live_

_I’m making dinner tonight. I already told you that this morning._

_wasnt lstning_

_You never do._

_pizzza it is then glad we got tht setled._

_OMG. I hate you. So. Much._

¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 

* * *

Cooking was something Koujaku tried doing frequently, but he was usually exhausted after working all the live long day (since cutting hair really sucked energy out of someone). Typically, the old man was fine with ordering pizza or picking up some pasta on the way back. That’s why, this morning when Koujaku announced he would be making dinner, Noiz took it with a grain of salt and kept the take-out menus close by.

As eventful as searching the old man’s place was, in the end Noiz caved and had no choice but to start on his assignments. Fifteen minutes into schoolwork, he shifts over to the living room for a change of scenery.

When Koujaku walks through the door, he comes in empty handed – Noiz is lounging on the couch, his laptop hooked to some portable speakers, playing music at maximum volume. Immediately, the old man starts to work on getting dinner ready, barely acknowledging Noiz’s presence. Already in the kitchen, Koujaku’s getting everything needed for dinner and it doesn’t take long for Koujaku to get heavily consumed with cooking. He’s in a whole other world, where it’s only him and his precious knife hacking away.

For once, Noiz elects not to give the old man a hard time and goes back to the bedroom. He works a little more, looks up some porn, and drifts off during a come shot.

“Brat, dinner’s ready!”

His laptop informs him that he’s been asleep for over an hour. It normally doesn’t take Koujaku that long too cook something up for them. Noiz kicks off the sheets, tucks his laptop under the bed, and tugs his beanie over his head. His footsteps are faint as he slowly pads down the hall. Why Koujaku _had_ to make dinner tonight, Noiz had no idea. He’d find out when he reached the kitchen.

The aromas permeating throughout the apartment are pleasant and, considering Noiz hasn’t really eaten all day, he’s kind of looking forward to filling his stomach up – regardless if he actually liked the old man’s food or not. Once he reaches the kitchen, Noiz freezes to take in everything. The lights are dimmed (Noiz didn’t even know there was a dim setting). A nice tablecloth was spread over the table. It was a dark red and had little patterns of birds and floral designs on it. A tall red candle placed in a glass holder sat in the center, burning brightly. The table was already set. Nicer dishes were set out, tall wine glasses. Food was already portioned between them.

All that was left to do was sit down and eat.

Given the overall ambiance in the kitchen, Noiz glances down at his boxers and then back at the table. “Should I have dressed more appropriately?”

The old man’s getting something from the fridge. He peeks at him over the door. “You could’ve put some pants on,” he says. “A shirt would’ve been nice, too.”

Noiz hikes his boxers up a little higher. “Be glad I have anything on at all.”

Koujaku closes the fridge with his hip. Without the fridge door blocking him, Noiz sees that the old man’s changed clothes. He’d slipped into a button down shirt (the first two buttons undone), a black vest with a matching tie, and pressed slacks. When did the old man find the time to change?

Maybe he was a _little_ underdressed.

The old man coughs. Noiz travels his gaze upwards, realizing belatedly that he’d been gawking at Koujaku’s crotch. His focus lands on the bottle of wine in Koujaku’s hands. Candle, wine, the nice China that were never to be used, fancy tablecloth – this, everything, just didn’t add up.

“Did I,” Noiz’s eyebrows knit together, as he follows the old man walk over to the sink. “Miss something?” 

Koujaku pops the cork out. “Miss what?”

Noiz takes the cork and tosses it over his shoulder. Something shatters behind him, but he’s too focused on the old man to care. It probably wasn’t anything important, since Koujaku didn’t seem all too concerned about the noise. “What’s all this?” he points a finger, almost in an accusing manner, at the table.

“It’s dinner.”

“Are you expecting company or something?”

The corners of Koujaku’s mouth pinches. “I thought you threw that ugly thing away.”

 _Changing the subject, old man?_ Noiz folds his arms across his chest. “Obviously I didn’t.”

“I can see that,” Koujaku pulls at one of the strings, the action causing his beanie to be lopsided. Noiz frowns, jerking it back into its proper place. Koujaku's lips quirk somewhat, he steps forward, falling into a motion one would do for a kiss. The old man stiffens, clears his throat and shuffles back, before fleeing for the table. "Let's – go sit down, brat. Food's getting cold."

Although his question was left unanswered, Noiz does as he's told and takes a seat. Like with most of what Koujaku cooks, he hasn't a clue what's on his plate. It looked like some sort of fancy fish cuisine with some herbs with a side dish of vegetables. Noiz won't analyze his food, check to see if there's any symbolism attached to it. He's going to eat it.

Koujaku pours him a glass of wine, filling it a little below the halfway mark. Noiz takes the glass, swirls the dark liquid, and takes a tentative sip. Right away, his taste buds are attacked by an intense horrible bitterness. It's awful.

Noiz sticks his tongue out. "Yuck." 

He chuckles, amused by the disgust washing over Noiz's face. "Don’t drink it then," he says. "There’s some juice in the fridge. Perfect for growing boys like you.”

Just to spite him, Noiz chugs down the rest of the foul liquid and instantly regrets it. His face scrunches up, as he battles the urge to spray the wine all over Koujaku's wrinkleless shirt. Koujaku pries the empty glass from his fingers. When the glass is back in his hand it’s filled with juice. It doesn’t quite wash out the awful taste but it helps enough for Noiz to go back to his dinner.

Noiz prods at his food. The old man has cooked for him several times, but he hasn’t quite gotten used to having someone cook for him that wasn’t hired to do so. He breaks off a piece, just a small piece. A taste tester for what’s to come. Noiz looks over the fish speared on his fork, examining it very closely. Preparing for the worst, he quickly pushes the piece into his mouth. A combination of rich flavors outshines the bitterness of the wine. The fish practically falls apart in his mouth. The old man could definitely cook, Noiz will give him that, but he won’t outright tell him so.

After finishing his mouthful, he silently goes for another taste and doesn’t notice that each piece he cuts gradually gets bigger and bigger. On his umpteenth bite, Noiz notices that the old man isn’t acting like his regular irritating self. Most of their meals together consist of Noiz grunting at Koujaku’s attempts at small talk. But tonight, the old man’s uncharacteristically quiet and there dinner is accompanied with a layered silence of terseness. If Noiz didn’t know any better, Koujaku seems . . . antsy. 

The old man has his glass glued in his palm as he constantly sips at his drink. Whenever Noiz snags Koujaku’s gaze, the eye contact lasts for a few seconds, Koujaku looks like he’s about to speak but takes another sip instead. Once the glass is empty, Koujaku pours himself another glass. As he brings it to his mouth, he meets Noiz’s eyes over the rim, and then proceeds to swallow the wine down.

Noiz taps his fork on his chin. “Already trying to get wasted?”

Koujaku places his glass on the table, his fingers curled securely around the neck. “I’m just thirsty. Shut up.”

“You haven’t touched your food yet,” Noiz says, pointing his fork at Koujaku’s untouched plate.

“I know,” Koujaku mutters, eyes looking anywhere but at him.

The number of glasses Koujaku’s plows through is lost on Noiz. The old man downs each glass like a shot and then mechanically refills his glass. Any effort to communicate with Koujaku is met with an irritated huff and a loud sip. If the old man wanted to be like that it was no skin off his bones. He scarfs down the rest of his food, drops his fork on his plate, and nudges the dirty dishes away.

Scooting closer to the table, Noiz picks up the bottle to see how much the old man's gotten through. It's empty.

With nothing left to drink, Koujaku finally starts eating. Noiz props his elbows on the tabletop, clasping his hands together, and resting his chin on his entangled fingers. He stares plainly at the old man, who refuses to meet him halfway. Koujaku's shoveling his food down, not taking the time to savor anything, and once he finishes with his last bite, he slams his hand down. The dishes and glasses ding and shake ever-so-slightly, as if handling the aftermath of a earthquake.

Koujaku's irritation, of course, is when he glares at him. "You're staring."

"You're drunk."

"I'm not drunk," Koujaku denies. "Let's just clean-up."

“Sure that’s a good idea?” Noiz asks. “You might break everything and blame me for it later." 

Clean-up is something they kind of just fell into. Noiz would dump everything in the since, but in this case -- he's a little more careful, since Koujaku decided to use nicer things. Once everything is in the sink, Koujaku washes diligently wearing yellow rubber gloves and to avoid splashing water and Noiz turning the spray onto him, he wears an a pink frilly apron a past fling had forgotten and hasn’t bothered to buy a new one. With clean dishes piled up in the dish rack, Noiz half-heartedly dries and puts everything away in their correct spots.

After the last dish is put away, Noiz takes off to the bedroom and is back on his laptop, and it's as if he's never left the room. When Koujaku walks in, he doesn’t think much of it. The old man would take a shower to wash off another great day of work and grime. Instead, Koujaku pads over to his side of the bed. The moment his hands are off the keyboard to readjust his speakers, his laptop is closed and the music filtering in the room abruptly shuts off.

Quirking an eyebrow, Noiz waits for a reason for Koujaku's actions. When he doesn’t get one, Noiz opens his laptop and notes, slightly irritated, that the application had closed and none of his progress was saved. 

Koujaku shuts it.

Noiz opens it again. 

Koujaku closes it again.

After the third time of this weird exchange, Noiz tilts his head back and stares at the older man. "Call it a hunch but I have a feeling that you want to say something."

Now that Koujaku has his undivided attention, he's not making very good use of it. His demeanor hasn’t changed since dinner. In fact, he hasn't really talked much ever since he got home. Noiz rethinks about the past few days. He hadn't gotten the old man as riled up lately. In his opinion, he's been a decent person to live with.

This new personality Koujaku has isn't someone Noiz wants to be around for another hour. The old man's uneasy about something. That much was obvious. There's that unexplainable nervousness again. Not that it ever left the old man. He's been fidgety throughout their entire dinner.

Koujaku loosens his tie. His cheeks are stained red. If it was from the wine or anything else, Noiz isn't sure. The old man could've snuck in a few more bottles. He exhales and drops his gaze onto the ground. He's preparing himself for something. Automatically, Noiz assumes the worst. Was he going to kick him out, tell him that he overstayed his welcome? That he should sleep on the couch? Or sleep outside?

The old man was the one who invited him to stay. Sure, his stay might've overextended for a few days but he hasn’t said anything about it. Of course, the old man wouldn’t want him to stick around. He should've expected this. He'd gotten too comfortable, too used to a mundane routine. He did this to himself. Never get attached, that was something he'd always followed to a tee, yet the old man had to go and fuck everything up.

Was the point of that ridiculous dinner to butter him up, before he kicked him out on the curb?

But the old man does none of those things. Out of all the possible sceneries Noiz conjures in his mind, he doesn’t think that the old man would kiss him. With how often Noiz asked for sex, this marks the first time Koujaku really initiated anything. He responds back, a tad too quickly and eagerly – he’s excited and the doubts constricting his brain loosens and fades – he wraps an arm around the old man, dropping down onto the mattress and bringing Koujaku down with him.

Koujaku topples on top of him, his body a heavy constant weight that he doesn’t mind being crushed by, but the prompt change in positions doesn’t end their lip lock. Noiz prods Koujaku’s mouth open, delving his tongue in deep and is hit with a taste of mint. No trace of fish or disgusting wine.

His tongue piercing clicks against Koujaku’s teeth as he pulls back. “… Mint?”

“I rinsed my mouth out with mouthwash,” Koujaku rushes and is quick to initiate another kiss.

It doesn’t last as long as the first one. Then, in a flurry of movements, Noiz has his boxers at his ankles, while Koujaku’s head bobs enthusiastically between his legs. It’s the best sight ever. If his phone was in arm’s reach, he would’ve taken a picture to commemorate this beautiful moment. He drinks it all in again, committing this to memory, because who knows when or if this’ll happen again.

Practice makes perfect and they’ve had plenty of sessions that Koujaku knows just how he likes to be sucked. The old man’s technique could be a bit more refine but his execution and enthusiasm more than makes up for what he lacks. He can’t avoid gagging, there’s some times the old man has to ease off, cough and hack elegantly, and then resume. Noiz nips at his lip, swallowing a groan as the warmth lifts off his cock once more. With lowered lids, Noiz watches as Koujaku eyeballs his dick, an annoyed scowl on.

Koujaku goes for another attempt, the determined expression on his face weirdly endearing. Impatient, Noiz shifts, his dick swinging and narrowly missing Koujaku’s cheek. The old man shoots him a dirty look and squeezes his length a tad harder in a silent warning (though that’s a blessing, not a punishment).

When he’s getting close, he seizes Koujaku’s chin, grip tight and his cock off centered in the old man’s mouth. He stares at his bulge poking in Koujaku’s cheek. “Not so fast, old man. I want to come inside you.”

Vibrations surround his dick as Koujaku babbles uselessly. Noiz releases him, his breathes harsh and uneven. His cock falls from Koujaku’s reddened lips. A thin line of semen and saliva breaks once the tip leaves his mouth.

Koujaku wets his lips, fanning his hand flat on Noiz’s thigh. “You want to…” the suggestion is so unthinkable that he can’t bring himself to finish.

“Tear your asshole apart,” Noiz sits up, he unbuttons and waits for Koujaku to drop it onto the floor before he unbuttons his shirt. “With my dick.”

Last button undone, Koujaku removes his shirt and lets it join his vest on the floor. “What else would you be using?”

“Just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget.”

Koujaku laughs, kicking his slacks off. "That you have a dick?"

“Isn’t this what you wanted the first time?”

He freezes as he brings his boxers down. “It’s not like I _really_ wanted it,” he mumbles, chucking his underwear off. “I was drunk and…”

Noiz stares at him.

“What makes you think I’ve never done this before?”

“Well,” Noiz prompts. “Have you?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Huh,” Noiz clicks his tongue. “Then I was right? Virgin.”

Koujaku pinches Noiz’s thigh. Noiz doesn’t flinch. “Well, I guess we, I could… do that.”

“How generous of you,” he says. "Your virgin ass is mine, old man."

Koujaku loosens his tie but Noiz slaps his hand off. “Leave it on,” he tells him, shoving him down on the bed.

Reaching under a pillow, Koujaku wordlessly tosses a half-used tube at Noiz’s chest.

Noiz uncaps the lube, he switches it this way and that. “You been busy, old man?” he asks, squeezing a glob onto his fingers.

“Can you hurry up?”

Taking a spot between Koujaku’s legs, Noiz places his thighs over his own, spreading his legs wide apart so his ass is in clear view. He splays his cheeks and coos over the old man’s puckered hole, getting a frustrated punch as he smears lube over it. The old man’s breaths pick up as the lube dribbles down onto the sheets. Noiz runs his finger along the cleft of his ass, prodding but not quite penetrating him. To that, Koujaku trembles uncontrollably as if he’s waiting for death to claim him.

"Calm down," Noiz says. "I haven't even done anything yet."

“I _am_ calm.”

"Then stop shaking."

“I’m not shaking,” he grounds out. “Just do something already.”

“Roger.”

Noiz pushes in one finger, dabbles some more lube around it, until Koujaku accepts the entire digit. Koujaku clamps down on him, his body desperately trying to squeeze out the foreign object, but he’s managed to control his quivers. He heaves a deep breath, eventually losing his rigidness, and without that tenseness Noiz is able to steadily push his finger in and out. Just for assurance, he adds more lube while he slips in another finger.

When he has three fingers working Koujaku open, the old man refrains from being very vocal. He has the back of his hand pressed to his mouth, stifling any noise that leaks out of him. Noiz lifts Koujaku’s shield away by his wrist, skimming over the old man’s face.

"Have you put anything in here since then?"

"What kind of question is that?” Koujaku snaps, his voice slightly flustered. "How can you ask me that?"

"It's just so much easier than last time," to prove his point, Noiz wiggles his fingers inside him. "I already have three fingers in you. You’re practically sucking me in. Didn’t think you’d have such a greedy hole. Do you think you could fit in another finger? Or my fist?”

“Stop talking,” Koujaku screws his eyes shut tightly. “Just stop talking.”

“You’ve been practicing. That must be it,” Noiz says. “Where’d you hide your butt plugs? I was looking around and –”

Koujaku takes a swing at him and misses. He wobbles slightly before flopping back onto the mattress.

“It doesn’t have to be butt plugs,” Noiz states informatively and, of course, from his own experiences. “If you believe in yourself, you can shove anything up your ass.”

The old man’s burst of laughter is breathless. "You should put that on a motivational poster."

"I should," Noiz agrees, diligently bumping his fingertips against his prostate. The old man jolts, blindly grasping onto Noiz’s forearms. "I'll print out a bunch of copies and hang them all over your crappy hair salon."

Generally, he wasn’t so talkative in bed. He only spoke to demand a little more pressure, a little more roughness – no one was looking to find someone to talk into bed for a decent conversation. But with the old man, Noiz can’t help but continually bicker with him, no matter the location or the situation. Noiz twists his fingers, deliberately avoiding the spot that was impossible to ignore. Koujaku groans, the sound unblocked, and he’s dripping onto his stomach. 

Noiz thumbs at a nipple, rolling it around into a hardened nub, while he directs his jabs at his prostate over and over. Koujaku slips out of Noiz’s hold, his strangled noise muffled by him cupping his noise. The old man’s gone quiet and hasn’t moved his hands from his face.

“What’s wrong?”

Did he push him too far?

No way.

They’ve done plenty of other things and Koujaku didn’t have any issues when he’d fingered him before. 

“… Old man?"

Koujaku mumbles something that sounds an awfully like “leave me alone”. Noiz uses the hand not currently playing with Koujaku’s ass to lower his hand, but Koujaku’s stubbornness rears its ugly head and he refuses to budge. Koujaku doesn’t realize what position he’s in. Noiz has the upperhand and quickly thrusts his fingers into him, scissoring his fingers. Lost in the sensations washing over his body, Noiz easily removes his hand and looks at Koujaku.

“You have a –”

“Don’t say it,” Koujaku sniffles. "Don't you fucking say it."

Noiz laughs – it’s not a chuckle or a mocking snicker – it’s an actual genuine laugh, the sound foreign to his own ears. Blood dribbles over the old man’s upper lip, he’s embarrassed, of course he is, but he stares at Noiz . . . fondly. A swarm of butterflies flutter in his gut, the feeling odd when combined to everything else he’s feeling.

Koujaku’s still sniffling. “It’s not that funny.”

“A fucking nose bleed,” Noiz laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s so… _hot_.” 

Wearing a tight lipped scowl, Koujaku hides behind his palm. “Could you get me some tissues?”

“Should we call it a day? Don’t want an old timer to pass out from blood loss.”

“Funny,” Koujaku mutters. “Hand me the damn tissues.”

Noiz maneuvers around Koujaku for the box of tissues on the nightstand. Koujaku crumbles a tissue ball to stop the bleeding. While he’s doing so Noiz is considerate enough to shallow finger him. Tossing the bloodied tissues aside, Noiz continues fingering him as if he hasn’t been interrupted – he’s slick, the muscle loosened enough for easy entry. Every time he retracts his fingers, his ears pick an obscene squelching noise.

Koujaku writhes, groaning openly and loudly, he scratches his bicep, and gasps out. “Hurry up.”

“You about to blow?” Noiz teases, he gets a condom from their stash but Koujaku stops him.

“You don’t have to,” Koujaku says. “Just, uh, don’t worry about it.”

“Are you on the pill?”

“Fuck, quit it,” Koujaku hisses, prying Noiz’s fingers out of him. “If you keep –”

“I don’t want to get you pregnant. We can't have a kid running around. It doesn’t matter how much you want it. We need to be responsible.”

"I'm going to fucking kill you!"

“You ready, _sweetheart_?” he asks, sitting in front of the headboard. “There’s no turning back.”

Koujaku props himself upright, gripping onto Noiz’s shoulders, as he positions his body above Noiz’s dick and slowly sinks down. Everything is slower and less hectic than Noiz wants, but since this is Koujaku’s deflowering, he lets the old man do things his way. Taking in more and more of him, his face pinches, his jaw clenches, he worries his lip, and his nails dig hard. Bottoming out, Koujaku drops his forehead on his shoulder, panting when the worst of it hasn’t even started.

He lifts himself up, letting Noiz do all the work, and falls back down. A broken gasp leaves his mouth, as he breathes harshly onto his collarbone. “Fuck,” he rasps. “Your piercings,” he thrusts back down, keening when Noiz bucks up into his slick heat. “… Feels weird." 

“You’re so warm,” he murmurs as Koujaku fucks himself on his dick. “Like a...” the words tumble out of his mouth, as he describes the most complicated and thorough drink he'd had to prepare for some snobbish prick, who demanded he be given a drink that didn't taste like filth.

Koujaku's eyes broaden and he stops moving much to Noiz's disappointment. “You stick your dick in your customers’ drinks? And you called me a freak?"

“Don’t care," Noiz says. "Keep moving.”

“So,” he grunts between each jerky movement of his hips. “Damn bossy.”

They switch positions, Koujaku splayed out on his back, legs hooked over Noiz’s shoulders while Noiz’s arms are bracketed on either side of his head. Noiz slams hard into him, watching the reaction each thrusts puts on the old man’s face. Noiz leaves a dark red hickey on Koujau’s neck, one that’ll stay for days. He attacks the old man’s mouth, kissing, biting, and kissing, until it hurts to keep going.

Noiz stills, his mouth dropping, Koujaku licks into his mouth, as Koujaku’s impossibly tight channel draws him into his orgasm. Noiz slumps, coming harder than he expected, before he settles on his haunches, arches Koujaku’s back up, and jerks him off to completion. Koujaku claws at the bed sheets, coming shouting his name.

As everything winds down, Koujaku sighs. “Did you have to come inside me?”

“You didn't want the condom,” Noiz reminds him. "Jizz is a good look on you." he rolls onto his side, facing the old man. “I’ll clean it up if you want.”

“Don’t bother,” Koujaku says. “I’m taking a shower.”

Noiz keeps Koujaku from leaving and dips his fingers between Koujaku’s cheeks. “I filled you up good. It’ll take days to clean this out.”

Koujaku thrashes under him. “Let me up, asshole!” 

He rubs his come along Koujaku’s bottom lip, applying it like lip gloss. It leaves a dull white sheen and the old man ruins his careful application with an ugly scowl. Noiz drags his tongue over his mouth, tasting himself, and kisses. When he pulls away, he tugs lightly at the tie barely hanging on Koujaku’s neck. Noiz meant to do something with that. Fucked out of his mind, he can’t remember for the life of him what he was planning. He pokes at the mark he’d left on Koujaku’s neck.

Noiz plays with the tie, thinking back to that bizarreness that was their dinner. “Huh,” is all he says. 

“What?”

“Is that what dinner was about?” Noiz asks. “Were you trying to _seduce_ me into fucking you?”

Koujaku discards his tie, flinging it across the room. “No!” he says. “I was just… I don’t know.”

“You didn’t have to do all that. Pizza would’ve sent the message just as clearly,” the old man frowns. “What can I say? I’m easily swayed.”

“If you hated it so much I won’t do something like that again.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions. I didn’t say I hated it,” Noiz tells him. “It’s just not necessary to put so much effort into something like that for me.”

A beat passes. Then, Koujaku sighs. “I wanted to do it.”

“Why?”

“Why do you think?”

He glances over to the old man and shifts closer to him, spooning him from behind.

“I’m not going for round two.”

“Is sex all you can think about, old man?”

As a reply, Koujaku grunts noncommittally. Despite it going against all his principles, Noiz sort of kind of cuddles with the old man. He relishes the shared body heat, the sweat, and the stench of sex.

His stomach grumbles.

“Are you _serious?_ ”

“Dinner didn’t really fill me up,” Noiz admits. “I’ll just order a pizza. Give me your phone.”

Koujaku nabs his phone from the nightstand. “Here.”

“I’m getting two,” Noiz says. “What do you want on yours?”

“I don’t know,” Koujaku grumbles, nuzzling his pillow. “Sausage.”

Noiz whistles lowly. “Can’t get enough of sausage, can you?” 

After he places his order, Koujaku whacks him repeatedly with pillows. 

* * *

“Are you sure?”

Noiz glances over his shoulder. The old man’s balancing on the balls of his feet, his hands jammed into his sweatshirt. The box in his arms is heavier than it was a moment ago and his backpack is a bag of rocks. An unsettling clump coils in his stomach, but he ignores the pit and shrugs his strap higher up his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he answers plainly, looking back towards the door. “I should get back to my own place.”

Koujaku walks around him, blocking the space between him and the exit. “Well,” he twists the doorknob, pulling the door back slightly. “At least you’ll get back to your disgusting house.”

“My disgusting house has sex toys. So, who’s the real winner here?”

The door opens and Noiz steps on his way out, but stops in the doorway. Koujaku smiles at him thinly. Noiz nods, turns, and heads home.

His apartment is just as he left it, even after the old man’s one time visit. Noiz checks over everything, noting the old man has bought him and left a few things for him in the kitchen, the considerate bastard. He dumps everything on the floor of his room, spends the rest of the day in bed on his laptop. Koujaku texts him, checking up on him, making sure he got home and didn’t skip dinner.

At three o’clock, Noiz figures he might as well try to get some sleep. His sleep schedule was always skewed, inconsistent. He could function perfectly fine on just three or two hours of sleep. The old man attempted to make it consistent but gave up, since it wouldn’t work. Besides passing out worked well enough for him.

He tosses and turns, uncomfortable in his own bed, and spends half an hour looking for a comfortable sleeping position.

Noiz counts sheep in his head, reaches three hundred, and gets out of bed without glancing at the time or anything else. Standing in his pajamas, he bangs on Koujaku’s door, and is greeted by a grumpy old man with terrible bedhead.

“Do you know what time it is?”

He shoves his way inside, padding down the hallway for the bedroom, and sliding under the covers. Koujaku sighs, but his tiredness wins over, and he gets back into bed, falling asleep within seconds. Noiz flicks the old man’s forehead, even in his sleep Koujaku just grimaces, and he follows suit into a dreamless sleep.

After that lame-ass attempt to go back home, more often than not, he stays at Koujaku’s (only dropping by his place for a new set of clothes or to grab a few things for school). Koujaku goes to work. He goes to school and waits outside for several hours to get inside.

One day, Koujaku slides a spare key across the table over breakfast.

“So, you stop breaking in,” is Koujaku’s simple explanation, playing it off like this is a casual everyday occurrence.

He broke into Koujaku’s apartment once but the old man continued to bring it up. Maybe if he didn’t take so long chatting up women at work he wouldn’t have to break in.

Arguing and fighting is still a common thing for them. Sometimes they get angry enough that there have been a few instances where verbal fights turned physical, but when they lay next to each other in bed, close enough that their arms slightly brush and their legs slightly tangle – everything that’s been a problem is no longer an issue. 

* * *

Out of the blue, Noiz says: “Sei is Aoba’s brother.”

He has his chin propped on his forearms and he’s having a staring contest with the headboard. “I think it’s safe to assume that they’re not together.” 

They’re splayed out on Koujaku’s bed. In their haste, the bed sheets were ripped off the mattress and barely cover their bodies. Noiz turns his head, looking over at the old man. Koujaku’s takes a drag from his cigarette, his other hand tapping the ash tray next to him.

“Is that so?” Koujaku says.

“Looks like your freak fantasies can finally come true.”

“Looks like it.”

Noiz’s eyes narrows on the headboard, bites his tongue, and glares.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have the time to pursue anything with Aoba,” Koujaku says. “I’ve got my hands full with work, with being a guest speaker at the campus and -”

“Uh huh,” Noiz interjects, feigning that he was disinterested. “Did I ask to hear your life story?”

“This annoying brat that won’t leave me alone,” Koujaku turns when he doesn’t receive an answer from Noiz. “Something wrong?” he asks with a too bright smile and his hand reaches out to cup Noiz’s cheek.

The old man’s such a sap. It’s hard to believe a man like him could exist.

“No.”

"Sure," Koujaku hums, caressing Noiz’s cheek with his thumb.

Noiz takes the cigarette from Koujaku and rests it between his lips “Did I ever tell you about this weird asshole that kept showing up at work? He was a real freak.”

Koujaku raises an eyebrow. “Was he?”

“Yeah,” Noiz says, expelling the smoke after holding it in his lungs for a few seconds. “He has some sort of gross obsession with hair and –”

Koujaku’s caresses stop and he lifts his hand up to shove Noiz’s shoulder. “Shut up.”

“Do you know who I’m talking about?” Noiz says. “I guess that makes sense. Freaks stick together.”

Koujaku takes his cigarette back and stubs it out in the ash tray. “It’s already two o’clock,” he changes the subject and sits up. “I should’ve opened up the salon hours ago. I have people waiting for me.”

By people, the old man actual means hordes of horny women eagerly waiting to have wrinkly hands playing with their hair.

“Skip it,” Noiz suggests.

“Skip work?” Koujaku snorts. “Like you’ve been skipping classes?”

“Exactly.”

“That’s horrible work ethic,” Koujaku chastises Noiz lightly. “Come on. We can’t stay in bed all day. We both have stuff that needs to get done.”

Noiz buries his face into a pillow. The old man wouldn't get him out of bed. He’d have to die trying. Koujaku rips the sheets off completely and the bed dips from added weight of the old man sitting on Noiz’s side of the bed.

“I’m sure they _could_ wait a little longer,” Koujaku amends.

“They’d probably wait all night if they have to,” Noiz mumbles. He picks his head up and casts a bored glance over at Koujaku. “Tell me, old man, has a girl ever wet themselves just from having your fingers in their hair?”

“Mm, I don’t know, maybe?” Koujaku says. “I have been told that I’m very good with my hands.”

“Then why do your handjobs suck?”

“If you want a haircut from me that badly all you have to do is ask,” he clicks his tongue. “There’s no need to get jealous.”

“No thanks. I don’t want those hands anywhere near me.”

“Lots of other people do. Get out of bed, brat,” Koujaku grunts. “I’ll make us something to eat.”

“Not salad.”

“After all that shitty junk food you’ve been eating, I think vegetables are going to be your new best friends.”

“Disgusting best friends,” Noiz’s feet slap on the floor, as he sits next to the old man. “Before you poison me, I have something for you.”

Koujaku grins, flashing his teeth. “You got me a present?”

He retrieves the box he’d hidden under the bed, presents it to the old man, before dropping it on his lap. Koujaku lifts the box up, bringing it up to his ear and shakes it. Carefully peeling off the wrapping paper – the old man would be the type that doesn’t tries to keep the shiny wrap, for whatever reason – it takes longer than necessary to open it, but the old man’s reaction was what made it worth it.

“It made me think of you,” Noiz says.

“ _This_ made me you think of me?” Koujaku grounds out forcibly, growling low in throat.

Since the old man’s just glaring at it, Noiz takes it upon himself to pick up his well thought-out gift. “You like red, don’t you?” And it was red, a nice dark red. If you looked close enough, you could see how sparkly it was. “It’ll fit in with everything else you have.”

“No, it won’t. I want it out of my room, out of my house, just fucking throw it out.”

“That’s rude,” Noiz tsks. “You get a present and that’s how you thank someone?”

“A butt plug isn’t a present!”

“We don’t have to use it right now,” Noiz says. He’s totally willing to compromise. “We’ll use it later, after we eat shitty vegetables and other healthy garbage.”

“Get it out of here, brat.”

“Why aren’t you looking at it?” he hovers the plug close to the old man’s face. Koujaku’s jaw clenches, he jerks his head to the side, glares at something off to the side. “Are you scared of it?”

“Scared of plastic?” Koujaku snorts. “Don’t be stupid.”

Using the plug, Noiz boops his nose. “Now you can’t say you don’t have toys in your house, old man."

Koujaku smacks his present onto the floor and storms out of his bedroom. Noiz shrugs, but follows after him. The old man would’ve bickered at him to help get lunch ready.

It actually doesn’t take much convincing for the old man to try out his present. 

* * *

“Open up already!” Noiz shouts, pounding impatiently on the door. “I know you’re home!" 

He left Koujaku’s for Mink’s a little after he went for work. Noiz doubts he’d be back for any surprise visit, but he leaves a note just in case. He wobbles the doorknob enough that it unlocks, and he swings the door forward – tanned fingers curl over the wood, ceasing the forward motion, and Mink leers into the small space he’s given himself. This is the part where Mink invites him in, but he keeps the door slightly ajar and shoots Noiz an expectant scowl.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?”

Mink scowl loosens. “You could say that.”

“I wasn’t planning on staying long,” Noiz shrugs, somewhat mildly curious on how dodgy Mink was being. The giant dreadlocked bastard was a solid wall; he couldn’t see anything behind him. “Are you hiding someone in there?”

Mink’s unresponsive, not in the mood to talk.

“I’ve been staying with the old man.” Noiz isn’t sure why he’s telling Mink this, but he highly doubt Mink’s the type to gossip to others.

The older man’s face softens. “That’s… good,” he says, nodding somewhat. “Are you happy?”

Noiz snorts. “ _Happy?_ Why would I be happy about that?”

Mink scoffs, without malice, and his lips curve into the world’s tiniest smile. “So you are. That’s good.”

“Sure it is,” Noiz says.

“Was that all you wanted to tell me?”

“Why would I come over here just to tell you that?”

“Well, why did you come here then?”

Noiz draws a blank.

“You should go back to Red’s. I’m sure he’s waiting for you.”

“He’s not,” Noiz says. “But I’ll go. You seem busy. Don’t tell Clear what I told you.”

“I won’t,” is what Mink mutters, before slamming the door. 

* * *

It’s inevitable to avoid meeting up with Clear and Aoba at school. They’re relieved he’s out of the hospital, but don’t dwell on the subject for long. He’s invited to Aoba’s house again. Noiz is smart enough to avoid getting another ride, opting for a less dangerous way that won’t take years off his life. Neither Aoba or Clear answer the door, but Aoba’ grandma or Tae as he later learns, lets him into the house.

From the voices and sounds coming down the hall, it’s obvious the two are in Aoba’s room, playing a game from the complaints and various sound effects tilling in the corridor. They’re in the middle of a game, some sort of racing game, where Aoba and Clear are neck and neck for first place.

“Noiz!” Clear greets warmly. “We’re glad you could make it!”

“Hey, Noiz!” Aoba says.

Noiz’s replies with a nod, though they can’t see him since they’re too focused on the TV. He sits on the floor, next to Ren, and passes the time on his laptop. They take a break when Granny shows up, bringing some things for them to munch on.

“Did you guys ever hire anyone after I left?” Noiz asks, licking sugar off his fingertips.

“Well, we’ve had people interested but no one turned in any applications,” Clear says, then excitedly adds. “Why? Are you interested in –”

He bursts Clear’s hopeful bubble. “No, I was just wondering.”

Clear sags sadly. “Oh.”

Aoba pats Clear’s shoulder and offers Noiz a controller. “Do you want to play a round?”

Noiz shrugs. "Sure." 

With only two controllers, they each take turn playing a game. Aoba’s on a losing streak. After each loss, he yells at his car on the screen – he gets so frustrated that he throws the controller at the TV and leaves a crack on it.

What good company. 

* * *

A crowd of women swarm around the hair salon like vultures hovering over a fresh kill. Noiz easily weaves through, kicks the door open as if he owns the place, and ventures on inside. The old man’s cutting some middle age lady’s hair. The amount of ecstasy written on her features seems as though she’s in a throes of an amazing orgasm. The little moans she makes definitely add to the ambiance.

Koujaku clutches at his shirt, startled by the umpteenth time by Noiz’s abrupt entrances. What can he say? He liked being dramatic. The old man scolds him about poor manners and how he’d told him countless times not to bother him at work. They both knew that Koujaku was able to keep working even with multiple distractions (this was something Noiz learned after a few trial test runs).

“Old man,” is all he says.

“Brat, what did I tell you about barging in here like that?” 

“To keep doing it,” Noiz replies. “And to do it as often as possible.”

Koujaku shakes his head. “What do you want?”

“I got my job back.”

“What, at the coffee shop?” 

“No, I meant my job fucking your ass,” Noiz deadpans.

“Brat,” Koujaku seethes. “Don’t pay any attention to him. I’m sure he’ll be leaving soon.”

“Anyway, since I know you’re busy, I brought you a drink.” He slams the coffee cup next to Koujaku and gives his ass a quick squeeze before leaving. 

* * *

It was like he never quit, when he finds himself working at his usual shift. According to Sei, things just weren’t the same without him. Noiz figures it was all total bullshit but whatever. It was mostly good to be back, despite some new perks Noiz didn’t care for, such as Sei relentlessly teasing him about the whole thinking he was dating his brother thing – it was a simple mistake.

“I’m going to put my hand on Aoba’s shoulder,” Sei says. “Don’t think this means we’re dating.”

Mink stares at Noiz oddly. “You thought Sei and Aoba were together?” he snorts. “You’re an idiot.” 

“Like I could fucking tell they were related?” Noiz grunts.

“Well, to be fair, we _are_ fraternal twins,” Aoba says. “It’s not like that’s easy to clarify.”

Clear cheers him up. “At least it was a happy mistake!” Well, fails at cheering him up. 

They throw him a welcome back party he didn’t ask for. Aoba brings Ren along for the unnecessary get-together, dolled up in a little costume. Noiz already has his sights on the backdoor, but they coax him into staying by showering him with gifts. Ren licks his face. Aoba gives him cookies that were only slightly burnt. Clear gives him a sketch book so he won’t waste anymore napkins. Mink gives him a case of special brand tea that he’d admitted wasn’t too bad. Sei gives him a gift card to the shop, because he apparently didn’t have time to get a gift. Aoba suggests they invite Koujaku but asks Noiz for permission first as if he’s Koujaku’s legal guardian.

Koujaku’s not able to make it. His lame excuse being that he’s floored with customers. Aoba spams him with pictures of all the fun he’s missing. 

The party drags on for a while, since no customers really show up. Noiz can admit he’s had a decent enough time. He might’ve even sort of smiled in a few pictures he was forced to be a part of. Though, Mink scowled in all of his. They all leave as Noiz’s shift starts.

“Tell Koujaku I said ‘hi’!” Clear waving goodbye with his umbrella and trots after Mink with a dreamy grin.

“Tell him yourself,” Noiz mutters.

“Here are the keys,” Sei says, placing the keys on the counter. “It’s great having you back, Noiz.” His former former boss leaves with Aoba and Ren.

He’s not left along for long. The chime goes off but Noiz doesn’t look up, instead scribbling on cups, napkins, and paper bags.

“I can’t read this,” the old fart says, holding out the coffee cup Noiz had left with him several hours prior.

“It’s German.”

“Gee, that's really helpful," Koujaku says. "I still can’t read it.”

“I’ll give you another cup, so you can quit your bitching.”

Koujaku rolls his eyes and orders another drink. He sits down at his usual spot, his usual table, and his usual seat. When Noiz comes over with his order, he hands his drink to Koujaku and sits down.

Koujaku looks at the cup, frowning slightly. “German, again?”

Noiz shrugs. “Look it up if it bothers you so much.”

“Knowing you it’s probably just another insult.”

“Believe what you want.”

“Tell me what it says, brat!”

“No.”

"Fine. Don't tell me. I don't care."

(He does care.)

Koujaku fidgets in his seat before he grabs a napkin from the napkin dispenser and scribbles something down. He slips it over to Noiz. 'Do you like me?' is written down and there are two boxes underneath it labeled yes and no. Noiz looks at Koujaku, who's fumbling with something on his lap. He looks so embarrassed it's ridiculous. To spite him because he knows Koujaku's watching closely Noiz makes a big production out of it, checking a box and then slides it over.

Koujaku looks, scowls, and reaches over the top to grab at his shirt and apron. “’No?’” 

"Are we in elementary school?"

"You were the one who --"

Noiz reels Koujaku in for a kiss and drags him over to the back of the shop. "Let's go."

"Where?"

"To Sei's office."

"What? Why?"

"To have sex."

"What!?” Koujaku sputters. “We can't do that!"

"His couch is comfortable."

"Is that from personal experience?"

"I wouldn't know ask Aoba."

"Brat," he’s walks slow down. He crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow at him. "Are you going to answer me or not?" 

"Are _you?_ "

Koujaku rolls his eyes. "You should know."

"You should, too."

"I'm getting nowhere with you."

"Quit stalling."

"Out of all the people in the world,” Koujaku says. “I had to end up with an obnoxious punk like you. What kind of shit is that? I expected better.”

"It's not like I want to be with a crusty old man," Noiz says. "You could fall apart at any moment." 

They don't have sex in Sei's office.

Koujaku talks Noiz out of that thought (but that doesn't mean Noiz won't try again). Instead, Noiz closes up and they head back to Koujaku's apartment. They throw jabs at each other every chance they get. Koujaku smacks the back of Noiz's head for a particular insult that was a little too close to home. Noiz gets him back by jabbing him in the side with his elbow. Koujaku catches Noiz's hands as he tries to slip his hand back into his jacket pocket. He laces their fingers together and gives Noiz the cheesiest grin in existence.

Noiz looks at their joined hands and experimentally squeezes. It (hand holding) was such a foreign concept to him. This wasn't the type of physical contact he actively sought from others but he doesn't slip away from the other man.

"Lame," he deadpans.

"L-Lame?" Koujaku sputters incredulously. " _You're_ lame."

Noiz snorts. "That's the best you can come up with?"

"Would you –” Koujaku groans and then lets out a sigh. “All I ask is for a few seconds of some peace and quiet. Is that so hard for you to do?"

"I bet you say that to all the girls."

"Just to annoying brats."

"Lucky them."

Noiz ducks his head to hide the small smile playing over his lips and gives Koujaku's hand another small squeeze.

Well, there were worse people to end up with . . . and he always did enjoy wrecking the old man’s fun.

And, most importantly, he’d never be bored again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Definitely be editing scenes in this chapter lmao. 
> 
> All that's left is the epilogue! C:


	9. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is! I wanted to have this done sooner but, oh well, what can you do? Here's a long ass epilogue for a long ass story!

Noiz is a piece of shit.

He’s annoying, rude and such a horrible barista that he can’t imagine why anyone would want to hire him. He has metal _in_ his face (in other parts of his body he, unfortunately, has the pleasure of later finding out), an unredeemable personality, and dresses like absolute trash.

In short, he's a shitty Hot Topic reject, nothing but a shitty brat.

He was here for Aoba. It’s always been about Aoba. Sweet, do-gooder Aoba, whose smile gave him butterflies, made him weak in the knees, and unable to focus on anything. Aoba who wasn’t annoying, was nice to everyone, and had beautiful hair. Well, he kind of dressed questionable too but no one was perfect. Admittedly, he had thought Aoba was a woman from afar. To be fair, he did look womanly from a distance. He hadn’t fallen for someone like this ever. It was love at first sight and as cliché and sappy as it was, he was a romantic at heart (Drunken one night stands aside. Again, no one was perfect including him).

This was the brat’s fault. He started everything. All he had to do was tell him when Aoba was working. That’s all. But, no, something so simple couldn’t be done. The whole thing amounted to bad timing. He _had_ to meet Aoba so late in the quarter, right before winter break was coming up. He couldn’t gather the courage to pursue a friendship, so he could cut his hair, and maybe if things became someone else he would’ve gladly accepted it. Then, everyone would live happily ever after.

He could’ve asked someone else about Aoba.

Like Clear.

Clear was a good kid. Sure, it wasn’t normal to be so cheerful, but he meant well. He would’ve been more than happy to help him. If only he had acted sooner. Damn it. No, he couldn’t ask someone else. If anyone was going to tell him it was going to be the brat. He’d force the information out of him if he had to. He’d punch, kick, or claw his way to his happy ending. Anything to be with Aoba.

Normally, he wouldn’t dive into things so fast with another person. He barely knew anything about Aoba - just that he was a third year college student and that he didn’t live on campus, he worked at a coffee shop, he and Clear were best bros and so on and so forth – but he’d learn about Aoba and Aoba would learn about him and it would be perfect.

His first time meeting the brat wasn’t anything like meeting Aoba. Noiz isn’t at all approachable. He gives off the impression that he doesn’t want anyone to talk to him. Why the hell did he apply to work at a coffee shop? Talking to customers was kind of part of the job description.

Koujaku knew if he didn’t keep a close eye on him, he would’ve spat in his drink without a second thought. When he finally asks him about Aoba, he accuses him of being a stalker, which isn’t anything close to who he is. He’s a perfect gentleman. Gentlemen weren’t stalkers. But he was raised to be a polite man, even to annoying brats who tell him the wrong fucking shift.

Noiz has to write stupid shit on his cup. He has to have the stupid curiosity to wonder how badly the brat can insult him. 

Then, he invites him to sit with him even though he can’t stand the sight of him and he says a stupid thing (he _wasn’t_ coming to the shop to see the brat).

He’s not coming to the shop to see the brat. No way.

This is all for Aoba, for his happy ending.

And he’d do anything to get it. 

* * *

Getting to that ending is a bit more challenging than he thought it would be.

It’s raining, raining abnormally hard. A small group of women are waiting outside of his salon, getting soaked and, given their thin clothing, greatly unprepared for the change of weather. Koujaku ushers them in, handing out towels and plugging in blow dryers. Some of them insist he be the one to dry their hair. He does his best to accommodate them and their needs. The rain doesn’t seem to be leaving anytime soon. It’s way beyond the time he’d prefer to keep the salon open. He sees to getting the girls home.

Conveniently, a few claim not to have any sort of significant other, or anyone that they can call to assure they’re safe and sound. Koujaku can easily recognize several regulars, who’re lying through their teeth. Women tended to speak about a boyfriend, or their husband, to him – complaining about the things they did that irked them.

“My husband’s so lazy!” one of them whines, looping her arm around his. She smiles sweetly at him, batting her eyes and squeezing him tightly. “Not like you, Koujaku. You know how to treat a lady and make her feel _special_.” 

Being the perfect gentleman he is, Koujaku walks two women to the bus stop. The other is a little understanding, saying her boyfriend was waiting for her at a bar close by. He gives her his extra umbrella, saying her boyfriend wouldn’t be happy if she caught a cold. The last one, who has gotten unbearably clingy, he drops her off at her duplex. To spare her from any more rain, he hands her his umbrella, and braves through the rainstorm. Koujaku wants nothing more than to go back to his apartment, change out of his clothes, and to fall under his dry freshly cleaned sheets.

The coffee shop is in his peripheral vision. But it’s late, super late. He’s in no mood for caffeine or to deal with a shitty barista. Koujaku looks into the shop, the brat isn’t working alone, so it’s not like he needs the company – not that _he_ would be providing company or the brat. That would imply that he actually liked being around Noiz and he didn’t.

He just went into the shop to get out of the rain. Clear’s a great contrast to the brat, welcoming him with a cheery greeting, and then fussing over him. While Noiz points out the mess he’d unintentionally made.

Thanks to Noiz, his expectation of proper service is skewed. He’s thrown off because Clear isn’t treating him like shit. Clear writes his name down on his cup. Koujaku isn’t sure what makes him want to stop Clear from doing his job. The name of the customer was supposed to be written down. Not insults.

Koujaku huffs a retort at the brat when he drops his order on the table. He finds his name crossed out, replaced with “Massive Shit”. His face breaks out into a smile, which he immediately wipes off. What kind of idiot would enjoy being called a demeaning name like that? Not him. Not that he was an idiot. He’s confused. That’s it.

Another thing that irks him is just how childish Noiz is. Only a kid would start a fight, a _napkin_ fight of all things, and a responsible adult wouldn’t encourage that type of reckless behavior. Being the mature adult here, Koujaku ignores the rapid fire of napkins bonking at his head.

Then again, even adults can run out of patience. 

He retaliates in a flurry of napkins, but with such crappy aim, none of them hit him. What’s worse is that Clear catches them. The asshole forgoes any blame for the mess _he_ caused and he begrudgingly helps get rid of every napkin. To make matters worse, Aoba shows up – which isn’t bad, Koujaku swears a glow surrounds him and the shop gets a little brighter, the rain be damned. Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea after all, ploughing through the storm, because Aoba’s here and he’s here. Happy ending here he comes.

Except Aoba has a boyfriend. That kind of hinders on setting everything in motion. Witnessing first hand, the sheer happiness on Aoba’s face as he spoke to his boyfriend was painful to watch, but he couldn’t stop staring at the couple. His soul rises out of his body; he slumps forward, and grasps at his chest at the public display of affection. A chaste little kiss shreds Koujaku’s heart to pieces.

He’s allowed to mope. The rain’s the perfect setting for moping, for depression, for every single negative thing possible. The world was cruel. It ripped a man’s heart out of his chest, stomped and shit on it, and then lit it on fire – a truly cruel, cruel place indeed.

The shock is too much, he falls out of his chair, and even he can’t make something like that look good. He goes to his feet, staggering back into the rain. Raindrops shower over his body. If it could wash away the sadness consuming him, that would be great and much appreciated.

He hasn’t strayed far from the shop, he sees Aoba leaving with his boyfriend and Clear in tow. They’re huddled close together, sharing an umbrella, laughing and whispering to each other. Koujaku grasps where his heart is, as if he’d been shot. It hurts. But it’s foolish how attached he’d gotten to Aoba, a young man he hasn’t the slightest clue about. Eventually, the trio disappears into a tiny speck, their laughter and voices long gone, the only sound Koujaku’s left with is the rain pelting the concrete.

Koujaku goes back into the shop, making a mess again, and falls back onto his seat. The brat’s shuffling around behind him. He holds his untouched cup close, it's cooled off, not a lick of warmth left, but he grips it tight. His lips are numb, he's shivering, and he knows he must look pathetic. He should go home and change before he caught a cold (the weather was merciless today). Getting sick would be the worst. Sitting around in his apartment, suffering through a high fever, having coughing fits and hacking up snot, with nothing to do but think about things he'd rather not.

He should've seen this coming. Aoba was a good kid. Why wouldn't he be living it up with some lucky guy? It was his mistake, pursuing someone without knowing if they were already attached to someone else. Here he was, ready to tear a healthy relationship apart -- he was only looking after himself, thinking about his own feelings. He'd been selfish, chasing after a dream without notifying the other party involved.

A paper bag lands on the table. Koujaku straightens at the intrusion, his hair falling back into place, hiding his shame. The brat has taken the empty seat, staring down at his phone. Though he'd been the first to suggest it, it was strange, sharing a table with Noiz like they were the best of friends, while in reality he couldn’t stand the sight of his pompous ass.

"I... forgot to finish my drink," as the cold beverage goes down his body, it does nothing to help him. Nothing at all. His numbness is worse.

He needed something stronger.

Apparently, the brat was a mind reader. "Want to drink?"

He's a smartass, chewing him out for being confused by his out of nowhere suggestion. He doesn't know what the brat's angle is. Is this some sort of prank? A take a man out while he's down kind of thing? He had to have some sort of ulterior motive up his sleeve.

Whatever Noiz's up to, he wants no part of it. But the promise of alcohol of booze is too hard to pass on and, against his better judgment, he agrees to go -- just so he could get to the alcohol waiting for him and nothing else. 

They go to a bar he used to frequent on his off time. As they head inside, the loud music and swarm of people are too much for him. He looks to the bar, spotting Mizuki right away. If he was in better spirits, he would've gladly joined him and caught up with the bartender. It had been a long while since they've had a good conversation. But with a brat at his side, Koujaku has a hunch sitting with a friend wouldn't bode well.

Koujaku weaves his way to the back, the brat close on his heels, to snag a private booth. Noiz does his usual jabs, which he takes in stride -- too exhausted and swarmed with depression to truly care -- before falling on the couch. The brat takes a seat across from him, toying with a piercing in his hand. Koujaku suppresses a shudder. Why would anyone want to stick something in their _hands?_

Music thrums in his ears. If he talked, it was less noticeable, less of a headache, but he doesn't have the strength or energy for idle chitchat. More importantly, what was he doing? Going to a bar with _Noiz_ of all people?

The sensible thing to do would've been getting drunk at home, drowning himself in cheap beer and a pool of his own tears, while blasting sad music his neighbors would complain to him about in the morning. Just when had he gotten so attached to him and Aoba becoming a couple?

Noiz grabs a menu from under the table, idly glossing over it. The perturbed expression on his stupid face is almost amusing (he hasn't had anything to drink and his mind is already making him laugh. The brat isn't amusing). Who knows how often the brat drank? He wasn't even old enough to be here.

The curtains part and Mizuki pops in. _Finally_. He gratefully accepts the bottle of sake and a small drinking cup. Mizuki's patient and polite enough to wait for Noiz to order his drinks. Despite the rain cloud forming over his head, Koujaku's lips quirk into a light smile while the brat gives Mizuki trouble. Mizuki handles with assholes on a daily basis. It's kind of fascinating to watch how smoothly he deals with Noiz. When Mizuki returns with Noiz's drinks was when Koujaku lets himself go, knocking back shot after shot of sake.

With a decent buzz developing, Koujaku cradles the bottle, sagging down along the couch. They discuss his favorite subject: Aoba (why was he so insistent on meeting him, wanting to cut his hair, wanting to be his friend so he could cut his hair, how he's a guest lecturer at the campus sometimes, and how he has his own salon). Noiz is a prick the entire time, insulting him at every chance and at everything. He shouldn't have expected Noiz to be the one to comfort him. He's blunt about it, voicing something he can't possibly admit to himself ("He's with someone else."), and is just an irritating asshole.

But it's fine.

Alcohol would be his companion through this whole ordeal.

The cup falls over, shattering as it connects with the floor. Koujaku stares at the shattered pieces forlornly, that cup served him well, and to honor that dedication he tips the bottle back. Sliding further down the couch, Koujaku's too comfortable and too dazed to care how pathetic he must look. Moisture prickles his eyes, but he refuses to shed any tears. He's an emotional drunk, but he won't be a sobbing wreck with the brat around.

Noiz walks to the curtain. He hadn’t counted how many it’d take before he’d ditched him. He reacts without thinking, catching hold of Noiz's wrist. Common sense tells him to let him go. Noiz doesn’t want to be here. _He_ doesn't want him here. At times like this, the last person he needed around was a brat pressing his buttons. Koujaku looks at his hand holding Noiz, his fingers almost encircle his wrist.

They exchanged short-lipped sentences. He doesn’t owe the brat an explanation when he asks him to come back. Noiz could do whatever stupid shit he wanted, as long as he wasn't around to deal with the aftermath. The brat keeps facing the curtains, Koujaku heaves a sigh, letting go of him.

"Just go."

Noiz's arm falls to his side and he was gone.

Good riddance.

But Noiz hasn't left, he crawls on top him, and he's _too close_. Koujaku can't move away, his back is pressed fully on the couch. Suddenly, he's aware of how his shirt is sticking on his chest, a majority of his buttons are undone, and how much skin he's been showing. His thoughts short-circuit when the brat hurriedly mashes their lips together. The first thing Koujaku notices, to his dismay, is that Noiz is a good kisser It's wrong. Assholes shouldn't be good kissers. Noiz tastes like a candy store, he's too damn sweet that if he keeps this going, he'll likely get cavities. Though, he lets the kiss drag on slightly longer, he hasn't kissed anyone in a long time, and he enjoyed kissing - gently cradling a woman's jaw, while his other hand carded in her long hair - it occurs to him now that Noiz is, in fact, _not_ a woman. 

He shoves Noiz back. "W-what the fuck do you think you're doing?" he actually stutters. He needs more to drink, but he's run out, and Noiz isn't getting off. 

The brat's shitty excuse is that _this_ is how he comforts people. Now he wants to comfort him? Anyone else would've just let him mope and bitch his misery to someone willing to listen. As if one kiss wasn't enough, Noiz drags him into another one. It's just as good as the last one, if not better, once he starts kissing back. Nothing's wrong with kissing, nothing bad could come from it. However, with the way Noiz is approaching things, it appears that he has other ideas, and that kissing won't be enough. 

He isn't about to have sex in a booth of a bar, so he suggest they go to his place to cool off.

The brat has it in his stupid head that that meant they were going to have sex. Well, he couldn’t be any more wrong, because the last thing he needed was to fuck (or get fucked) by a dumb little kid.

He’s wrong too many times that night. 

* * *

Noiz actually spent the night (if you ignore his aborted attempt to leave unseen at three AM). Whether it was intentional or not, the brat in some way listened to him. He's on his side, his arm tucked under his head, sleeping soundly. His face looks the same as it does when he's awake, a blank mask Koujaku can't decipher for the life of him. Never in his wildest dreams, did he think he'd be sharing the same bed with an asshole barista, who messily scribbles "Right Hand Only" on his coffee cup. Noiz's spikey blond hair, he'd gotten his fingers tangled in it last night -- it was flaky but soft, nonetheless, a little _too_ soft for Koujaku's liking, in that he kept finding his hand gravitating back towards his hair.

_It's the alcohol_ , he tells himself, stone sober, as he retracts his hand from Noiz's stupid hair.

He looks peaceful, at the moment, in his bed, naked and hogging the sheets. Well, Noiz did want to leave, so he kicks the brat out of bed. It's the logical thing to do. Except the last part didn’t happen and he's in the kitchen, preparing breakfast for two.

Today, the weather’s chipper, a total contrast to last night, and he’s in a considerably better mood as he cooks. Though, sex would make _anyone_ a little less sad. The brat’s out of bed, hovering at the doorframe, not daring to step into the kitchen. Koujaku doesn’t expect him to stay, but he urges Noiz to sit down and eat breakfast. He’s not the world’s best cook, but his mother taught him everything she knew and she was the one critic he cared about. So if the brat didn’t like his cooking . . . he could shove it.

During breakfast, Noiz keeps eyeing the front door. He’s a picky shit and won’t quit playing with his food. If Koujaku had to feed him, so be it, and it gets Noiz to shut up, if just for a little bit.

When Aoba calls him, it’s hard to hide the excitement in his voice. _Come on, Koujaku, be cool, be smooth_. It’s a new day, Aoba has a boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean he can’t talk to him. Aoba had given him his phone number a long time ago. He just never had the courage, ahem; time to give him a call. Aoba mentions his dog, Ren – a frequent topic that comes up. Koujaku isn’t much of a dog person (he preferred birds. Northern cardinals in particular), but the way Aoba lights up about his pet makes Koujaku want to hear him go on for hours and hours. 

Once the call has ended, Koujaku puts his phone on the counter, in better spirits after a nice chat with Aoba, and finds the kitchen empty. Noiz has moved to the entryway, putting his shoes on quickly. The door opens, there's the unmistakable sound of rain hitting the pavement.

"Brat," he says. "Are you leaving?"

Without a word, Noiz steps into the rain, he doesn't look back once. Every step forward he’s gets drenched, his soft hair flattening into a bowl cut. He stands on his doorstep; the brat’s figure is obscured in the rain and he shrinks and shrinks as he goes further down the streets. He could’ve gone after him, it was dumb, walking out in the rain without a raincoat – the brat wasn’t even wearing a jacket. He could’ve lent him an umbrella, but would he take it or just throw it back at him?

It would’ve pointless to do anything. Noiz has made his decision. Shaking his head, Koujaku closes the door – he had a mess waiting for him in the kitchen and it wasn’t going to clean itself.

Hopefully, the brat wouldn’t wind up getting sick.

A day later, Noiz turns up again. He’s on his front step, in a crouching position with his head pressed against his thighs; his hoodie is pulled over his head. Koujaku would’ve assumed it was a random bum, if he hadn’t seen the long green strings from that tragic beanie. He wakes him up, lightly shaking him by the shoulder. Noiz’s head lolls slightly, before uncurls himself, and blurrily stares at him. The brat looks like shit. Walking in the rain like that was just asking for trouble.

He ushers him into the living room and gets him onto the couch. They bicker uselessly, (the brat shows up and he already wants to leave) but then Noiz is out like a light. Koujaku drapes a blanket over him, he removes the beanie, contemplating throwing it in the garbage but drops it on Noiz’s chest. He retreats to his room and, after a smoke and a bath, he returns to find the brat has left, the blanket crumpled on the floor.  

A few days later, Noiz is back and he’s with a client. Koujaku isn’t sure how a typical meeting with a patron has somehow become the walk of shame. The woman flirts with him shamelessly but he feigns obliviousness to her unsubtle advances. It’s not unwanted attention, but she doesn’t leave soon enough. Noiz doesn’t leave, he doesn’t take another nap, instead taking residency in his bed, where _he_ feigns obviousness about his client. He shouldn’t have to explain himself, if he did sleep with her (he didn’t), who cares if the brat knows or not? It was his business. After squabbling back and forth, the brat – a sick little irritating brat – somehow gets a handjob out of the whole mess.

Over the next several days, Koujaku gets a temporary roommate. It’s not a bad thing. Noiz can be somewhat tolerable. Being sick doesn’t lessen his sarcasm or turn him into any less of a prick, but he doesn’t get on Koujaku’s nerves as much.

He can’t wrap his head around how Noiz can get him to do this or that. One would think he’d have a decent amount of willpower or resistance. To state a firm “no” and stand by his decision, which is how he winds up having sex with Noiz _again_. Since he’s still sick, Koujaku does his best not to be too rough, but being thoughtful earns him complaints and insults (“Is your dick even in there? I can’t feel anything.”). He’s practically asking for a cold, fucking the brat with violent thrusts, while Noiz breathes extra hard due to a clogged nose, but he doesn’t stop.

His cell phone rings. It takes him a moment to notice, by then he’s positive his phone’s gone off for the third time. He’s not about to stop. Most of his calls are from clients. If it’s urgent news, there’s a reason voice mail was invented. Although, it is alarming when his phone _keeps_ ringing and he loses count of how many calls he’s missed – Noiz’s breathing picks up, he coughs and sniffles, his hitched moans turning nasally – his ringtone fades into the back of his mind.

The calls change to his home phone. Koujaku isn’t going to last much longer, he increases his pace, his mattress squeaking after every one of his thrusts. Everything ends abruptly. Noiz comes first, Koujaku following shortly after. Sickness and sex isn’t the best combination, Noiz drifts off within seconds, as he tosses the condom away and wipes the semen off of Noiz.

With that out of the way, Koujaku checks his missed calls. They weren’t from clients. Twenty one missed calls from Aoba, not including the calls from his home phone. _Shit_. Cursing under his breath, Koujaku steps into the hall and calls him back.

After the first ring, the call’s connected, Koujaku quickly blurts out the beginnings of an excuse. “I’m so sorry, I was…” Having sex? (Literally) Fucking an asshole? In dispose? "In the middle of -"

“I can’t find him!”

Aoba's muffled sob seizes Koujaku’s throat, killing the rest of his sentence.

Koujaku swallows, ignoring the guilt rapidly welling up. “Take it easy, who can’t you find? Who are you looking for?” _Sei?_ He almost asks.

“Ren! I can’t find Ren!” Aoba cries. “I-I’ve looked everywhere for him, but I can’t – oh god, what if I can’t find him? What am I going to do, Koujaku? He’s all alone and I’m –” he whimpers and hiccups.

“Deep breaths,” Koujaku patiently waits for Aoba’s breathing to slow down. He’s still hiccupping and sniffling. “Where did you last see Ren?”

“We went to the park,” Aoba murmurs. “I saw some old friends and wanted to catch up. I swear, we were only taking for a few minutes. When I turned around, I… he was gone. I can’t find him. I’m so scared, Koujaku, I can’t –”

“You’re at the park?”

“Y-Yeah, I haven’t left,” Aoba says, his voice trembling. “I don’t want him to come back and not be here.”

“Okay,” Koujaku bits his lip, looking over at his bedroom. “I’ll help you look for him.”

“You will?”

“Yeah, of course, I will.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’m sure you have other things going on and I –”

“Aoba.”

“You’ll really help?”

“I will. I told you I would.”

“Really?”

“Definitely. I’ll be there.”

“Thank you so much, Koujaku. We’re here at the park.”

_We?_

Koujaku hangs up, pockets his phone, and glances to his room. “Hey, brat?” he taps his knuckles on the door. “I’m going out for a little bit. It won’t take long. I’ll be back soon.”

How hard could it be to find a little dog?

It turns out to be very difficult.

Once Koujaku’s at the park, he understands the “we” Aoba had mentioned. Aoba’s gathered a search party for Ren. There’s Clear, Sei, Mink, and two blond guys who firmly inform Koujaku they aren’t in any way related. Everyone searches everywhere in the park, but even with so many people helping out, Ren is nowhere to be found.

Aoba’s devastated.

To sooth Aoba, Clear takes the distraught baker to the side, assuring him with a gentle smile and a shoulder to cry on. Koujaku doesn’t dare approach the pair. In this sorts of situations, he has no clue what to do or say. He can’t tell Aoba it’ll get better. What if it doesn’t and Aoba is miserable for the rest of his life, thanks to him, instilling false hope.

“Koujaku.”

Koujaku nods at Sei, who strolls over to him, wearing a light smile. Strange, Sei’s and Aoba’s lips kind of curve in a similar manner, but couples had those weird quirks they shared . . . right? Besides, it’s probably his imagination, the great search for Ren did take a lot of effort from everyone.

“It’s been a long day, huh?”

“Very long,” Koujaku glances over at Aoba with a frown.

“I just wanted to thank you,” Sei bows deeply. “Thank you for helping my little brother.”

Flustered, Koujaku tells Sei to stop, babbling that it’s unnecessary, that he did what anyone else would’ve, that he was scum for attempting to break them up, and that – _wait_.

Did Sei’s smile widen?

“You’re… welcome?”

“Aoba tends to exaggerate sometimes,” Sei says, canting his hips. “Ren’s smart. He’d never stay away from Aoba for long. They’re each other’s world. Aoba’s so attached to Ren, I’d be surprised if he ever finds anyone who’ll put up with him. Though, I can’t really blame him. Ren’s a very cute dog.”

“Oh,” is all Koujaku can say.

“It’s getting late,” Sei says. “I know how busy you can get. Are you sure you don’t have anything or anyone to get back to?”

“No, I –” Koujaku inhales sharply. Fuck. He sort of did. He doesn’t have to immediately get back to the brat. Noiz wouldn’t be waiting for him. But he’s sick. What if he needs something? He did just fucked him and leave. He checks his phone for the time. Dread washes over him. Two hours. He’s been gone for _two_ hours. “I, uh, sorry but I have to –”

“Go ahead,” Sei smiles. “I’ll let Aoba know something came up. Thanks again for your help.”

He sprints back home, as fast as he possibly can. Why is he rushing back to the brat? It isn’t like he actually cares about him fretting over him. But even if he is an ungrateful turd, he’s sick.

Back at the house, an empty house is all that’s waiting for him. 

* * *

It isn’t his problem.

If the brat, that fucking idiot, wanted to be an infuriating prick then whatever. He didn’t care. If something crawled up the brat’s tight ass and died there, it was of no concern to him. All he did was take care of his lousy ass when he was sick. He could’ve turned the other way or slammed the door in the face. That’s what he should’ve done in the first place. No good could come from being a nice human being to someone like Noiz.

Aoba had patched him up. His concern of his well-being eased his anger somewhat (it’s nice, getting taken care of by Aoba, a _single_ Aoba with no attaches to anyone (unless Ren counted), who he could ask out right on the spot. Instead of dreaming of the best date spots, he dreams of murdering a pierced brat in the most painful way possible. Murder shouldn’t please him so much. Once again, the brat is at fault for his ruined mental state.). As soon as he leaves the shops, his failed efforts to figure out what happened with the brat is all he thinks about. He doesn’t think he’d stoop so low, brawling with some young kid in a back alley, and then getting caught – as if he was a raging hormonal prepubescent teen – by Mink and being scolded. He went from being a twenty-six year old man, to a teenager, to a fucking child in a matter of seconds.

Koujaku grinds his teeth, if he grinds any harder, his teeth would be reduced to powder. He needs a smoke. He needs a drink. He needs a distraction. Patting down his jacket, Koujaku grabs his pack and shakes out a cigarette. The dumb thing won’t get out, so he shakes it harder. His rough handling causes each of his cigarettes to tumble onto the street in a mockery of a waterfall. Koujaku bites the inside of his cheek, his canines biting down enough to draw blood. He would’ve snatched one from the ground if they hadn’t landed in a conveniently placed puddle.

Women had gathered in front of his salon. Koujaku’s back presses against a wall, he forces himself to calm down. _Breathe in, breathe out._ A terribly fake charming smile woos them easily. They huddle around him, handing him too many compliments, touch him with feather light touches, and high-pitched giggles. He runs on his own schedule, closing the shop whenever he chooses to. He can’t close up now.

Koujaku scans the crowd. He sees quite a few regulars and some new faces. His eyes land on a young woman – she has fair skin, a slender figure, and is dressed rather modestly compared to the others. He targets a smile at her, it’s less forced, and he places his hand on the small of her back as he leads her into the salon.

She’s just the type of distraction he needs.

His new client is shy and won’t directly look at him. She’s quiet, not much of a talker. She fumbles with the hem of her bright green dress. Her hair is soft, has no tangles, and has a pleasing scent of fresh fruit. She takes excellent care of her hair, which gives him less to work on. It’s less of a distraction, but he makes up for it by praising how healthy and shiny her hair is.

Soon enough, she relaxes in her seat and talks in full sentences. He gets her to laugh, catches a flash of silver in her mouth. She has a tongue ring. A silver barbell, which she holds between her teeth, then it’s gone, hidden behind a coy smile.

_It doesn’t suit her._ A voice tells him. Koujaku doesn’t acknowledge how similar the voice resembles Noiz’s.

The brat had a stupid piece of jewelry impaled in his tongue. In the alleyway, he could feel it pressing against the roof of his mouth, as he stupidly kissed him back. _Why did I kiss him back?_

_You_ know _why you kissed back._ Noiz’s voice taunts him. _You don’t need an epiphany to figure it out, old man._

The brat isn’t in the room, in the vicinity, yet he can still somehow find a way to bother him. Koujaku shuts his voice out. He pushes forward, until he gets the job done. The results please the client, but to his eyes – he sees a mess, it’s a travesty, and the faults are all he can pinpoint.

“Thank you so much,” the girl gushes, smiling brilliantly. “I like it a lot! You did such a great job!”

Her tongue ring shines a little too brightly.

Noiz enjoys clacking his tongue into his teeth while they kissed.

He closes the salon early. 

* * *

The large dump of crap accumulating over the last few days is momentarily put on hold. Right now, the phone call he just ended has gotten his attention. The date was set in the next following days, an hour and a half long lecture. Koujaku’s mood brightens considerably. He brainstorms a variety of topics to discuss, how he would present it, and whatnot. His next lecture will be comprised of three brief subjects. 

He writes everything down on paper, creating a half-assed bullet point list. He scratches things out and adds things. Planning his lecture is stimulating, the different ways of cutting hair isn’t much of an attention grabber, but Koujaku likes to think he’s charismatic enough to keep everyone entertained for over an hour.

He tells Aoba the good news over the phone. He’s so excited, so damn excited. Aoba joins in with his uncontainable giddiness. He gushes over Koujaku’s past lectures, tells him how cool and composed he looked on stage in a room overflowing with people – it’s embarrassing but Koujaku enjoys the ego stroking and lets Aoba ramble about his amazing, super informative, lectures.

“Clear and I will definitely be there!” Aoba assures him.

Would the brat go?

Koujaku’s grin droops. Why does it matter if Noiz went? He wouldn’t go to something like this. He’d already expressed a lack of interest in his as he eloquently put it “boring-as-fuck-lectures-by-a-sad-old-man”.

“That’s great!” Koujaku says. “I can’t wait to see you two there!”

“You better not pick me,” Aoba warns him. “I don’t care how good you are, you aren’t touching my hair.”

“I won’t pick you,” he laughs.

Koujaku could pretend to search the crowd for someone. He’d put on a show, taking elaborate time with his decision, and deliberately choose Noiz just to see how pissed he’d be. 

* * *

Fuck the brat. Fuck him. Fuck him right in the ass and back.

He's an idiot, a complete moron. Whatever was left of his brain cells had vaporized. Koujaku doesn't understand. How could so much stupid fit into such a dumb head? He doesn't listen to a single word he says. Not that he expects the brat to listen to common sense. No, common sense is something the brat severely lacked and he’s proud of that fact.

He's angry. Pissed. Livid. Every single word that could possibly connect to anger is not enough to describe how fucking angry he is.

"Idiot," he snarls to himself, stomping down the hallway. "That fucking idiot."

The nurses he'd given a friendly smile to had wisely chosen to avoid him. He probably would’ve shouted at them, which isn’t right, he wouldn’t treat any woman so badly. But he can’t see straight and he’s sure he’s seeing red. His entire body is shaking from the fury boiling inside him.

He thought.

He doesn’t know what he was thinking – that things were better? What sort of conclusion is he supposed to draw? Out of nowhere, the brat is at his salon, beaten black and blue, and bleeding like a geyser. He plays the whole thing off like it’s nothing and that he isn't leaking blood on the floor or that his voice is a little softer than normal. Koujaku swears his heart stopped for several seconds. The brat killed him. His cause of death would be at the hands of a moronic kid. His tombstone would read: “Here Lies Koujaku, a handsome gentleman, who was savagely killed at the hands of a garbage wearing prick, who fucked his customer’s drinks”.

The brat's condition is awful. Of all the places he could've gone, why did he choose to come to him?

The destination was the hospital. The brat needed medical attention and fast. Instead, he wisely brings Noiz to his home, where his medical supplies could not substitute going to an actual hospital. After fixing the brat, he’s going to make sure everything onwards would go smoothly. Of course, he hadn’t thought smoothly meant sucking Noiz’s dick. It’s his first blowjob. Having a dick in your mouth is a . . . unique life changing experience. Cock tastes strange, or Noiz does, and semen isn’t any better. It’s salty.

He’s had _way_ too many firsts with Noiz. A few of them could be excused as drunken mistakes. He hadn’t been in the right state of mind when he kissed the brat, his first kiss with a man, and the first time he stuck his dick in a guy’s ass. Others couldn’t be as easily excused. He hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in his system when he touched another man’s lower frontal area. 

Then, there’s the unforgettable first time he got slapped . . . with a dick. Later, the brat admitted seeing it done in porn. He thought it was a good time to try it out and implied there’d be more dong slaps in the future.

“No,” Koujaku had snarled. “No more dick slaps.”

“There’s never enough dick slaps,” was Noiz’s stupid reply.

With all these firsts, Noiz is not going to get anything else out of him and he won’t ever come near him again. Not after the shit he’s pulled this time. What was supposed to be a relaxing day became the worst day of his life. He’d woken up alone, stupidly thought Noiz was in the bathroom, and went back to sleep. When he woke up again, either the brat had drowned in the bathtub or had been masturbating for a long period of time.

But, no, Noiz had the genius idea to go after some idiot prick just so he could get the shit kicked out of him. So, he saves the brat and instead of expressing gratitude for his good deed, Noiz is annoyed at _him_ , as if he’s the one being a nuisance. Koujaku would’ve throttled him then and there, but decides he’d do that once the brat’s taken to the hospital.

Instead of enacting his revenge, Koujaku sleeps at Noiz’s side, and gets rudely waken up just so they can have another argument. He leaves and stops by a bar, talking to Mizuki and politely declining company from others. A great weight lifts off Koujaku’s shoulders, spilling everything that’s happened to him to his friend.

Mizuki hands him a drink, assures him it’s on the house, and cleans a glass. “Are you going back?”

“I told him I would.”

“Ah, just checking,” Mizuki grins. “It’s not good to break promises, Koujaku.”

“I’ve never broken a promise,” Koujaku protests. “Besides, I didn’t promise that idiot anything. _He’s_ the one who’s giving me all these problems and I – what? What’s that look for, Mizuki?”

Mizuki snickers. “It’s just refreshing; seeing you get all riled up over some kid.”

“I’m glad you get such enjoyment out of my misery.”

“It’s my job as a bartender to listen to everyone’s misery,” Mizuki says. “Otherwise, what kind of person would I be?”

So, he comes back, as he (did not) promise, and discovers Mink and Noiz about to break apart from or going into a heavy make-out session. The brat’s killed him another time. Noiz doesn’t explain what’s happened, he goes on and on about the wonderfulness that is Mink.

Noiz and Mink slept together. Who cares? He doesn’t care. He’ll never come back to the hospital, to the brat’s private room, and his thin hospital gown that has a low collar – he doesn’t fucking care.

He’s glad, fucking ecstatic, to have the brat out of his life forever. 

* * *

It happened.

Well, it was bound to happen. It was inevitable, really.

The brat fucked him.

A guy fucked him.

Someone with a dick stuck it in and he _liked_ it.

He’s a new man with a sore ass and a slight limp. To celebrate his deflowering, the brat gets him a cane, which he abruptly snaps in half.

Of course, he couldn’t be simple about it. He didn’t have to go make dinner, set an atmosphere, and dress nice – practically seducing the brat into bed. It doesn’t take much coaxing into doing the nasty with Noiz. Everything he did would go over the brat’s head regardless and it did.

But Koujaku wanted to do something . . . nice.

He wouldn’t describe the night as romantic. Noiz isn’t properly dressed and he can’t sense the tone. Tells him, after all is said and done, that he didn’t have to do all of that.

It’s true. He didn’t.

But, if given the chance, he would’ve done it all again. 

* * *

Here he is so-and-so months later, his happily ever after ending severely altered.

He's with Aoba, in his apartment. They're in the living room, chatting like old friends, old _platonic_ friends. The television’s on, but neither of them are paying attention to whatever’s displaying on the screen. It’s some documentary pertaining bisexuality that hits a little too close to home. It doesn’t help that the next segment is about piercings, which inevitably lead to images of pierced cocks.

Everywhere Koujaku looks is cluttered with shit left behind by Noiz. Given the condition of the brat’s apartment, it isn’t very shocking that he hasn’t learned to pick up after himself. Noiz’s ugly hat is on the floor, taunting him with its pure tackiness. The kitchen isn’t far; he could ignite the hat and never see it again. After that, he’d burn Noiz’s entire wardrobe. Doing so would be a great service to all of mankind. But if he did that, it’d give Noiz a valid reason to forgo clothes altogether.

“Koujaku?”

He'd actually forgotten he had company. He had gotten so consumed with thoughts of ridding Noiz's horrible taste that he'd _forgotten_ about Aoba.

"Yes, Aoba?" he shoots Aoba a charming smile. It’s a real pleaser with the ladies.

Unfortunately, Aoba isn't so easily pleased. "Were you listening to a single word I said?"

"Of course I was!" is Koujaku's immediate boastful reply. "You were talking about," he blinks, his mind hadn't picked up a single thing Aoba said, and chuckles. "Um, you were talking about..."

What was Aoba talking about?

"Oh my gosh, you hippo!" Aoba throws his hands in the air, fed up, and chucks a pillow at him. "I was saying that..."

Whenever Aoba spoke, he dutifully listened, hanging onto every single word he said - even if the news he was telling him of the day were about the littlest things - how Ren did a cute little stretch after a longer nap, or so-and-so doing something at work. But Aoba's voice faded out, a white noise to his ears, as he drifted off onto other thoughts, other things . . . pertaining to a certain blond haired, metal faced, garbage wearing brat.

"Koujaku!"

“Yes!” Koujaku stands to attention, startled.

A disgruntled pout plays over Aoba’s lips. He looks adorable like a lonely puppy vying desperately for any kind of attention. Koujaku’s heart swells. How could he be thinking of the damn brat when he was with Aoba? Something was wrong with him.

“I’m sorry, Aoba,” he murmurs. “I can’t seem to focus right now.”

“It’s okay,” Aoba says. “Must be one of those days?”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Koujaku chuckles softly. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

"How about I come back some other time?" Aoba says. "I should be getting home, anyway. Sei's making dinner tonight and I promised I'd help him."

"That's probably a good idea," he says, seeing Aoba to the door. "Save me some leftovers."

About an hour after Aoba leaves, the door unlocks and Noiz steps into the house, obliviousness of the shit he’s caused for him. Noiz’s stoic face, Koujaku hasn’t quite gotten rid of the urge to punch the look off his face, like nothing in the world ever fazes him. 

Noiz plops down next to him, taking out his phone, and texting some idiot. “What’re you watching?”

“Nothing,” Koujaku grumbles.

“Then you won’t mind if I put some porn on?”

"Of course I mind,” he hisses. “Go watch that somewhere else. Isn't that what your laptop is for? Why don’t you go do that in a room far, far away from me?”

“Prude,” Noiz says.

The brat snatches the remote, briskly flipping through channels, until he finds something worth watching. That something is some cartoon show with rabbits.

“Nothing else is on.”

“Sure, brat.”

The theme song is terribly catchy. It’s stuck in his head, even as he nods off, wondering what to prepare for dinner. Weight pressing on his thighs wakes Koujaku, he realizes belatedly that Noiz is on his lap, lazily mouthing at his throat. Koujaku’s head falls back, allowing Noiz more access to his neck. Noiz’s hands snake down his shirt, pawing attentively at his tattoos.

Koujaku gripes, out of reflex, and shifts Noiz’s away from his ink. Noiz moves them back, bites his nails into skin, and suckles determinedly at a spot behind his ear. He moans, flinching at the light caresses of fingertips running over his tattoos.

“I like them,” Noiz’s breath tickles. “Your tattoos are like a great opening for a porno.” He hikes Koujaku’s shirt higher up his chest. “Just how much of your body is inked, old man?”

“You already know.”

“No, dumbass, that’s how things would go before all the crazy sex.”

He clutches at Noiz’s hair. “Stop relating everything back to porn.”

“If you’re not going to let me watch it, I might as well make my own.” 

* * *

There's about three minutes left of Aoba's shift.

It's not like he'd only memorized Aoba's schedule. He kept track of Noiz's too, not because he wanted to, but because they occasionally go to lunch together whenever he has some free time. No matter what Clear says, eating lunch together doesn't count as a date, which Clear always counters: "Oh! Well, it's a mini-date then!". Every time that wrong mistake is made, Noiz simply shrugs, and asks if they can go eat now.

The chime goes off as he goes into the shop. 

Noiz should be working right now. With school back in session, he's been given earlier shifts, despite being willing to work the late shift. Koujaku’s right. Noiz is behind the counter, standing close next to Mink.

(Maybe he's a _little_ wary of Mink hanging around the brat. Whenever Noiz announces he's leaving, he'll usually tell him where he's going. More often times than not, that place is Mink's apartment. It isn't bad per se, Mink lives close and he seemed like a decent enough guy. If he was that paranoid he could follow Noiz to see what was going on . . . but that was a line he wasn’t ever going to cross. He’s not a stalker, damn it.)

The brat is chatting with Mink about something. His conversation companion doesn't seem to be interested, as he wipes down the counter. Koujaku scowls, it takes Noiz a little too long to notice he's there. Noiz treats every customer at the shop this way. He's not expecting special treatment, whatever that's supposed to mean, but is it so hard to put in effort at work?

"Welcome to Hell," Noiz greets him blandly.

Aoba strolls out, looking good as per usual (not that he’s checking him out. It's just a detail he happened to notice, like pointing out how blue the sky is. That kind of detail.). Aoba’s changed out of his work clothes. With the weather getting warmer, his hair is tied into a high ponytail and his bangs are pinned back.

"Yo, Aoba!" he grins. "Are you ready to go?"

"I’m totally ready!" Aoba grins back. "Just let me tell Sei I'm leaving and I'm all yours!" his grin freezes and he looks at the counter, at the brat, and hastily adds. "You know, _platonically_."

"Do you have to say that every time we hang out?" Koujaku asks.

"I don't say it every time," Aoba mumbles. "I'll be right back, hippo."

“Take your time, tell Sei I said ‘hi’,” Koujaku saunters over to the register. After his brief chat with Aoba, Noiz has been looking at him oddly. “Brat,” is the only word he gets out.

Noiz clamps his hand onto his nape, yanking him over the counter. The jerky action makes Koujaku stumble. He gets a mouthful of Noiz’s tongue, his piercings clack in his mouth. One of them lets out a breathy moan, the noise a little deeper than Noiz, but he pins it on the brat, anyway. Noiz is grabby, getting past his barrier of clothing to touch skin. Koujaku shudders at the slide of warmth. He bites down on Noiz’s lower lip, fingers pinching a nipple. Taking a fistful of Noiz’s hair, Koujaku growls lowly, gaining a groan Koujaku recognizes too easily.

They’re completely lost with exploring each other’s mouths. It hasn’t occurred to Koujaku that they’re making out in a public place.

Someone clears their throat.

Koujaku recoils, a flush creeping up his neck and, most likely, reaching his ears. Public displays of affection aren’t his style. He’d quit being so openly affectionate in his early twenties. Certain things were better left in the privacy of one’s home, or at the very least in a private area. Pleasantries like that aren’t in Noiz’s thoughts. He would’ve gladly had sex, right then and there. It’s very fortunate that the _Cappuccino Princess_ is empty at this hour.

“Do you have something caught in your throat?” Noiz’s lips lightly touch his own as he speaks.

Mink turns to the coffee machines, muttering: “Idiots.”

Koujaku rakes his fingers through his hair several times, until his heart slows down. Noiz’s hand remains on his nape. He squeezes firmly, smirking at his flushed and flustered state.

“Behave yourself, old man,” Noiz thumbs at a hickey he'd last from last night. "Don't tarnish Aoba’s image of you."

Koujaku removes Noiz’s hand, already noting the loss of warmth. "I'm a grown man,” he says. “I think it's fact that I'm the mature one here."

Mink scoffs and he catches a "sure you are" under his breath.

"What?" Koujaku snaps at the older man. "Are you saying I'm not?" 

His question doesn’t get an answer (Koujaku doubts Mink would’ve given him one), since Aoba makes his return. Koujaku absently thumbs the spot where Noiz’s fingers were moments before. 

* * *

“Be careful!”

The scissors pause mid-cut. “I’m sorry,” he rushes out. “It won’t happen again.”

“That’s what you said the last three times,” Aoba mumbles. “Stop thinking about your boyfriend and –”

Whatever Aoba says is lost to Koujaku. His brain singles out the dreadful word and rams it repeatedly into his head.

_Boyfriend?_

The word doesn’t compute. He hasn't had to associate it to anything. Why would he? He's a healthy man who enjoys the company of women. But he hasn’t slept with anyone of the opposite sex in months and has a man waiting for him at his apartment. He swallows down the need to defend his heterosexuality.

Koujaku removes the scissors completely, before he snips something he shouldn’t and ruined Aoba’s hair. “The brat’s not my boyfriend.”

“Aren’t you sleeping with him?”

He fidgets awkwardly, suddenly sure of what to do with his hands. Aoba shouldn’t be asking about his sex life. He acts so casually as if discussing their favorite flavor of ice cream. “Well, yeah, but –”

“So. Boyfriend. Got it.”

“Two adults can fall into a routine without giving it a label,” Koujaku says. “Why does it need a label, anyway? People have sex. Sex doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Uh huh.”

“Aoba,” Koujaku frowns. “I don’t care for that tone.”

“Uh huh,” Aoba says. “Whatever you say, hippo, whatever you say. Now get back to cutting.”

"How did I convince you to let me do this again?"

"You didn't. I asked you myself. You would've remembered that if you weren't daydreaming about –"

"I wasn't daydreaming."

"About Noiz."

"I wasn't – he's not in my thoughts. I don't think about him."

"Denial isn't a very fitting look for you, Koujaku. What would your fans think?"

"What do they have to do with anything?" Koujaku sighs, tending back to Aoba's hair. He's a professional. He can do this. Of course, he can do this. "You should really be nicer to a man with scissors."

The frequent snipping of scissors pricks his eardrums like needles.

"It isn't healthy to ignore what's right in front of you."

"Aoba," he says warningly.

"You two are worse than little kids," Aoba sighs; he probably would’ve shaken his head if he didn’t have to keep still. "At least when a kid wants something, he'll say it outright. With you two, it's like we're performing some sort of cruel torture on you."

“Now, Aoba it’s not very nice to meddle in other people’s business.”

“Normally, I wouldn’t agree with Noiz on anything, but right now you sounded just like an old man. Saying stuff like that makes Granny sound years younger.”

Koujaku’s jaw drops. “Aoba, how can you say that?”

“I’m saying this as a friend,” Aoba replies.

“How can you be so nosy?” Koujaku groans. “I don’t work with everyone else. My personal life should be safe from meddling.”

"Since you're Noiz's boyfriend, we’re your family by extension!"

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“That’s not what he told us.”

Koujaku almost cuts off Aoba’s ear. 

“ _Careful!_ ” 

* * *

Lounging on the couch in his boxers, the brat's typing at a rapid speed on his laptop, surrounded by all sort of electronic junk he's tossed around. Noiz has taken over his living room, using the area as his work space. Koujaku misses being able to safely walk in his home, without having to worry about accidently tripping or stubbing his toe on whatever’s laying around. Noiz's narrow green eyes glance towards him. After a slight nod, he goes back to his screen, typing faster and louder

Koujaku hangs up his coat, neatly puts his shoes down, and rearranges Noiz's shoes so they line up. "Welcome home," he mutters to himself.

" _Welcome home_ ," Noiz parrots mockingly.

Mindful of where he steps, Koujaku goes to the kitchen to grab a beer. Aside from a six pack, a carton of milk, and some fresh produce (which was left untouched) -- the fridge is empty. Right, he was supposed to go grocery shopping, before he came home. That talk with Aoba must've messed him up more than he thought. Shaking his head, Koujaku moves to his room. He pushes the window open, inhaling the breeze whooshing into his home, and lights up a cigarette.

Aoba's in his thoughts. Though, he's held in a different regard than before. He's attached to Aoba, some feelings for him may linger for a while longer, but . . . he values their developing friendship more than he desires a relationship. Besides, maybe in another life, things would've worked out for them. Not that he was settling for the brat. They weren't together. Honestly, he had no idea what they were. Not that it mattered.

And, just like that, his thoughts warp into something else. He pushes them away. He thinks about work, how many happy clients he's had this week. He thinks about how he ruined his chance at cutting Aoba's hair. He'd wanted to do this for how long and he ruined it, because he couldn't stop thinking about -- so, his focus hasn’t exactly been the same for a while now. Not since things have changed between him and . . . a certain brat. It's not like he's behaving all differently. He's not acting differently, because he hasn’t changed.

Something singes his fingers. Koujaku looks at his hand. His cigarette has burned more than halfway through, already at the filter. Sighing, he lights another, and takes a long drag. The brat's a piece of shit and he always will be, but he's gotten used to it. It's almost terrifying him how fast it took him. Of course, his thoughts lead back to the brat. Begrudgingly, Koujaku can slightly agree that Aoba has a few points that weren't entirely wrong.

Noiz wasn’t a complete shithead. When he wasn’t climbing on top of him, pinning him against walls, or tripping him . . . there were some times it wasn't too bad. For example, they've taken a few showers together. He offered to wash his hair and Noiz allowed it. The brat was like a cat, pliant in his hands, as he soaped up his thick blond locks. He might've purred. He rest his head onto his lap whenever they were watching TV. Koujaku let Noiz pick a movie most of the time. He may or might not have bite down on his tongue at the umpteenth jump scare. They weren't very big on cuddling after sex, but they sort of fell into it, just naturally pressing together. Noiz favoring the big spoon just to rub his cock against his ass. 

At work, Noiz would perk up, just minutely, whenever he walked in. He'd pretend he didn’t care he was there. He'd pout when he wasn't fast enough to take his order and Clear would write his name down on the cup.

The brat was capable of being cute sometimes.

"Hey, old man?"

Speak of the asshole now. Koujaku hid his face in his hands. His face was on fire. _What the hell is wrong with me?_

"You're out of food."

He stares out the window, where it's safer. "So?"

"So... I'm hungry. It's not that hard to figure out, old man."

"I just got home."

"Guess I'll just starve," Noiz says. "Or you could let me order some take-out."

"No way," Koujaku grunts, glancing over his shoulder. The brat has his head poked into the room and was glaring at him expectantly. "No more of that shit."

"You wouldn't have to bitch about cooking if you just let me --"

“Not when you eat pasta or pizza three times a day.”

“I wouldn’t be hungry.”

"How do you not see the problem with that?" he huffs. "I'm surprised you haven't gained a shit ton of weight from all the junk you put into your body."

Noiz shrugs. "High metabolism."

"Enjoy it while it lasts."

"You sound kind of bitter," he says. "Is that why you've gained a few pounds? Those tight pants you're so fond don't look as flattering on you anymore."

He could tell the brat to cook something for himself. Noiz is, after all, an adult – difficult as it was to believe at times. But thinking Noiz was able to cook was a mistake on his part. He came close to burning his house down. There was still some burnt splothes on his walls and soot around his kitchen that he couldn't quite get rid of. It was a terrible idea on his part of leaving Noiz unsupervised. He didn’t think suggesting the brat _make_ his own pasta would backfire on him.

"Just give me a few minutes," Koujaku says. "I'll make you something. Quit bitching."

“You quit bitching.”

“Are you five? Get out of here.”

Koujaku looks back to his window and pulls at his cigarette.

"If you take too long, I'm just going to order take out."

"I just said I won't take long."

"Hurry up then, _tubby_."

He takes it back. 

The brat isn't cute. 

* * *

Dinner turns out to be difficult. An empty fridge surprisingly doesn’t fit any recipes. The impromptu, but necessary, trip to the store was a pain – it took Koujaku fifteen minutes to drag Noiz off his laptop.

("I'm making dinner for _you_. The least you could do is get off your ass and come with me."

To which Noiz replied: "Are you scared of getting lost in that big store?")

Shopping itself wasn't any better. Noiz took every opportunity to drop something they didn't need in the cart. Most of which had ingredients entirely consisting of sugar, sugar, and more sugar. When the brat isn't doing that, he's doing his best to trip him, or to pinch his ass whenever he so much as slightly bends over. Way past his tipping point, Koujaku slams Noiz against a shelf, knocking down several items. If possible his irritation increases tenfold, Noiz's fucking smug grin -- he steps back, causing a scene in the middle of the cereal aisle isn't what he needs, and grips onto the cart, steering it in the way of the cash register.

Dinner itself is a quick affair. The brat finishes quickly (shoveling his food down even faster when Koujaku tells him to slow down) and moseys over to the bedroom, leaving him to put everything away. There was a time, a long, long time ago (about a month) when Noiz would help him out. The phase hadn't lasted very long, but it was nice while it lasted. Putting left overs away, Koujaku piled the sink with dirty dishes and got into gear – armed in his rubber gloves and apron -- he started washing.

Scrubbing at a stubborn spot, Koujaku starts -- lost in his goal for sparkly, clean dishes – as a hand presses on his lower back.

The brat looks over the plate, a glint in his eyes, and then meets his eyes. "You missed a spot."

"I _know_.”

“Then why didn’t you get it?”

Noiz shuffles over to grab a dishrag and starts clearing out the dish rack. He's dressed in his clothes, a cotton sweater and loose battered jeans. If he’s wearing his clothes, he must’ve run out of his own things to wear. More and more of the brat's clothes have been left behind. He's sure it isn't intentional, the brat can be forgetful. He'd leave a bunch of things and Koujaku would put them aside for Noiz to pick up, except the pile kept growing and it was an eyesore until Koujaku sorted it away. And so what if Noiz has a drawer of his own now and some of his clothes are in his closet.

He'd never say it but the brat was pretty much living with him. He had a copy of his key. Despite his complaints, they shared shampoo since Noiz was too lazy to buy his own. Koujaku would never gather up enough courage to tell Noiz to stop wasting money on his shithole apartment, especially since he rarely goes there anymore. But that would make this living arrangement permanent. He's not sure if he's ready for that just yet. 

"I'm going out."

"To the arcade?"

"I'll be back," Noiz says. "I left you a note."

"You did? Where?" Koujaku follows Noiz's gaze. He realizes he'd left a sticky note on his cheek. "Oh, well... thanks."

The brat shrugs, dropping the rag onto the countertop.

"See you later.”

Noiz stays by the doorframe. “Later.” 

* * *

A swift whack to the cheek is his alarm clock. 

Koujaku cracks an eye open, the TV was still on, but he doesn’t know what program is on. An empty bottle of beer is tucked into his side. Some droplets have landed on the cushion, but he’s dealt with worse stains. He checks the time on his watch. It’s past midnight. He’d fallen asleep on the couch, exhausted from the activities of the day. Truthfully, he might’ve been waiting for the brat to come back.

“You fell asleep.”

““Your deductive skills are astounding. You should be a detective,” Koujaku wisecracks.

Snorting, Noiz pats his cheek, and strolls over to the hallway. Wiping the drool off his chin, Koujaku gets up discard his bottle in the sink, smothers down a yawn, and changes into something a little more comfortable. Noiz is in the bathroom, the sink running at full blast, and playing a track from some obscure German band Koujaku couldn’t pronounce to save his life.

He opens the window, lights up a smoke. The stars look good tonight and the night air is refreshing, always. The water stops, but the music remains – some frantic offbeat rhythm, screaming vocals, and lots of guitar – and Koujaku exhales softly, tapping falling ash into his ash tray. The bathroom door opens and Noiz drags his feet across the floor, adding a little emphasis to each step since he knows it annoys him.

“Bathroom’s all yours, old man. Don’t want to leave your dentures in.” he hears the brat flop onto the bed, can feel his eyes on his back.

In fourth drags, he finishes his cigarette, and stubs what’s left in the tray. “Where’d you go?”

“Out.”

“You’re free to do whatever you want,” Koujaku says. “I’m just wondering what took you a little five hours to do.”

If Noiz did answer, he doesn’t wait for it, and goes to the bathroom to wash up. He takes care of business, brushes his teeth, then his hair. Adjusts whatever damage the brat left for him. His green toothbrush is on the counter, he drops it in the cup they share, wipes the surface dry. He’s back out and slips under the covers, already turned on his side, facing opposite of the brat.

In the darkness, using the softest voice possible, Noiz says: “I was visiting Aoba.”

Koujaku’s heart stops. “You… you did?” _Did you really tell Aoba I was your boyfriend?_

“That dumb dog distracted me.”

“For five hours?”

"Tch."

Koujaku snorts. “Got a soft spot for Ren?"

"Tch." 

"I don’t blame you. He’s a cute dog.”

“… I was thinking.”

“Should I be worried?” Koujaku jokes lamely.

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

There’s silence.

“I haven’t slept with anyone else,” Noiz says.

“What about…”

“I lied about Mink.”

"Oh,” Relief washes over him. He’s relieved that he won’t have to worry about catching any sexual diseases. That’s really all there is to be relieved about. “I knew that."

"Did you, really?"

“You’re a shitty liar.”

“Better than you,” Noiz taunts. “How many sleepless nights did you suffer through, believing I got me some fine cinnamon lovin’?”

More silence followed by more silence.

“My dick’s working perfectly fine but… I’m fine with just fucking you, I guess,” Noiz’s features twist into a look of contemplation. “It’s too much of a hassle to find someone else,” he glances over, considering him, before averting his gaze upwards. “I could do worse.”

In a strange way, it’s kind of a sweet thing to hear. Noiz is kind of sort of confessing something.

“Have you –”

“I haven’t been sleeping around. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t hop into bed with every woman I meet or give a haircut too.”

Noiz hums. “Okay.”

“Okay? That's it?” Koujaku blinks. "No snappy retort? No insult? No jab at my age? Nothing?" he feels Noiz's forehead. "Are you feeling alright?"

Unlike the last few times he’s done this, Noiz doesn’t slap his hand away. The bed slightly creaks as Noiz moves, placing his hand next to Koujaku’s head, leaning down to kiss him. It’s a slow kiss, a first for the brat, because he never lets them go this slow. He never initiates such a gentle kiss that’s without bites or teeth involved. Noiz’s other hand travels down Koujaku’s neck, going down to rub his thumb on his clothed nipple. Koujaku tugs the brat closer to him, so Noiz is pressed flush against him. They keep kissing for a while, neither in a rush to proceed onto other things.

Koujaku can feel Noiz’s erection pressing insistently into his thigh. It’s a hard warm reminder of how excited and aroused the brat is getting. Noiz urges Koujaku to sit up, peeling off his top and then running his hands up and down his skin. He slinks down, trailing his tongue down his chest and licks at his boxers and dick. When Koujaku can’t take it anymore, he pulls down his boxers, and Noiz takes him in his mouth. Koujaku grasps onto Noiz’s hair, his hips pinned down by Noiz’s firm hold.

“Ah, fuck,” he gasps and comes into his mouth.

Noiz swallows it all down, wiping his cock clean as he eases off his prick. He licks his lips and crawls up Koujaku’s body to meet his lips. Noiz buries his nose into the side of Koujaku’s neck, gripping onto his side as he ruts onto his lower abdomen and comes within a few moments.

“Are you bored?” Koujaku asks.

Noiz looks at him and nods.

Koujaku smacks his arm.

“I’m tired.”

"I notice that you get tired after sex a lot,” Koujaku says. “And you call me old?"

“You must be sucking my youth,” Noiz says. “Ever since I’ve gotten into your moldy bed I’ve gotten more and more tired.”

“That just means I’m _that_ good.”

Noiz huffs a laugh. “Or you take so long getting it up that I’m better off taking care of myself.”

"You're the one who keeps coming back."

Welcome back silence.

"Your hair's gotten pretty long, brat."

Noiz blows his hair out of his eyes. “So?”

"I don't know if you know this but I have this job, where I cut hair and --"

"No."

"No?"

"I can cut my own hair. Thanks."

"You won’t even –”

“No.”

“What if I –”

“No.”

Koujaku clicks his tongue. “Stubborn brat."

"Stingy grandpa." 

* * *

Another call equals another lecture.

On the way to the shop, Koujaku walks with a skip to his step. He’s on top of the world. Nothing can bring him down. He’s untouchable. He bursts through the door, drawing everyone’s attention on him, and announces the details of his event. He invites everyone. He’s happy, damn it, and isn’t ashamed of showing it. Everyone congratulates him and show interest in going, even Mink, who shrugs as if to say “Yeah, sure, I’ll go”.

Finally, he looks at Noiz, just to see if he has any sort of reaction. He’s not expecting much. There’s a light frown on his lips, he turns to the coffee machines, and starts making drinks.

The walk back to the apartment is spent in silence. Koujaku doesn’t think much of it. The brat is just being a brat. He obviously isn’t interested in going to his lecture. Whatever. He isn’t going to force him to do anything.

“What do you want for dinner?”

Noiz shrugs at each of his suggestions. His facial expression remains the same even when he asks if he’d like pizza or pasta.

They eat leftovers.

Dinner is quiet. The brat’s playing with his food. Koujaku fidgets.

When Noiz slips into bed beside him, he doesn’t go on his laptop. He breaks his code of silence to ask: “You’re picking Aoba, right?”

“What?”

“For your stupid guest lecture bullshit,” Noiz says. “You pick some lucky idiot to cut their hair. Hopefully not another clingy bimbo –”

“How’d you know I picked someone?” he asks. _Wait a second._ “Brat,” he grins.

“No, it’s not –”

“Did you go to one of my lectures?”

“Not… willingly.”

“Who forced you to go? Clear?”

“… No.”

“Holy shit,” he gasps. “You _willingly_ went to one of my lectures?”

“So what if I did?” Noiz challenges him, daring Koujaku to tease him.

Koujaku shrugs. “Just didn’t think that was the place for you.” 

“It’s not. It was boring as fuck but I guess people like boring shit.”

“I’ll probably pick Mink,” he says. “He needs the haircut. He’ll thank me.”

“What if you just make him hotter?”

Koujaku frowns. “Would you prefer I make him bald?”

“I don’t know,” Noiz drawls. “A bald Mink sounds hot to me, too. Honestly, everything about muscular slab of meat gets me wet.”

“How about you don’t talk about other men when you’re in my bed?”

“Aww, don’t worry old man,” Noiz says. “I already tapped that. I don’t go for repeat performances even if he was easily in my top five. No, top three.”

“You’re joking, right? Right?”

Of course, he’s joking. He just admitted that he'd lied about sleeping with Mink. But with how often Noiz hangs around Mink . . . he can stand to be somewhat cautious about things.

“Are you jealous?”

“If that gorilla wants you he can have you.”

“Well, he _is_ in reasonable distance, literally right down the street,” Noiz quips. “Looks like this is goodbye, old man.”

Koujaku hooks his arm around Noiz’s neck and pulls him back down to his chest. “I’m not picking Aoba.”

Noiz glances up at him. “That’s a shame,” he sniffs. “You could get rid of that weird mullet thing he has going on."

“One day,” he says. “If he ever lets me near his hair again, which I don’t see happening anytime in the near future…”

“Who knows if that day will ever come,” Noiz muses. "Did you fuck up that badly?"

"I'm a professional. I know what I'm doing. I just kept... thinking too much."

"You? Thinking? I didn’t think you were capable of doing such advanced actions,” Noiz raises a fist in the air. “Mankind really is evolving. Amazing."

There's that brat's annoying sarcasm. It doesn’t take much for it to rear its ugly head.

"What were you thinking about that distracted you from fapping into Aoba's hair?" he asks. "It must've been something."

"It was nothing," Koujaku grunts.

"Someone's getting defensive."

"I'm not getting defensive."

"Were you not thinking of a thing? Could it be you were thinking of a person?” He can't form any words but it seems like silence is just as worse. "Oh? Did I get it right?"

Koujaku sighs. 

"Was it a woman? An old woman? Or a man? Well, no, probably not. I keep forgetting you're straight. You made sure to say 'no homo' before you sucked me off, right?"

Koujaku glares at him.

"You don't have to tell me. It's not like I actually care."

"Who do you think I was thinking about?"

"… That grandma down the street?"

Koujaku punches him. "Do me a favor and shut up, shithead."

"Hey, if you want her don't let me stop you. I don't want to be the one keeping you from true love."

“I will murder you in your sleep.”

“Sometimes, I think about an old man," Noiz drawls. "When he doesn’t walk straight and has a limp, I wonder why he doesn’t use a cane."

"I’ll rip your fucking jugular out," Koujaku says. "Then, I'll push your body off the bed so you don't bleed all over my sheets."

The brat pats his chest. "Sweet talk will get you nowhere, old man." 

* * *

Noiz is easy to spot within the crowd.

Located in the middle of the room, he’s seated with the others, sandwiched between Clear and Aoba. The two are scooted to the end of their seats, elbows on their thighs and chin tucked into their hands, as they talk over the brat. On the opposite side of Aoba is his brother Sei, who is fiddling with his tablet, while taking a drink from a can of juice. Sitting on Clear’s free side is Mink. He’s reading something and has an arm casually draped over Clear’s chair. Koujaku hadn’t thought Mink would actually attend. Maybe Clear had a hand at convincing him to go, or he finally realized what he could do to fix that mess he let sit on top of his head – it was the former, no doubt, but Koujaku let himself believe it was the latter.

As the lecture starts, everyone has their eyes on him. Well, _mostly_ everyone does. Meanwhile, Noiz is playing that game he’s always messing around with. Koujaku has never felt so . . . out of touch with technology, until the day the brat assured him he’d start using his time more “wisely” if he beat him at a few games. He shouldn’t have agreed to it. Noiz knew the outcome before he picked up a controller. Never again.

The brat hasn’t muted the device at all. While he speaks, switching slides on his power point (it was animated too, that’s how professional he was.), he can faintly hear little resonances coming from that stupid gaming device. Koujaku can see someone trying to get to Noiz, but Mink doesn’t let them get much further to issue a complaint. Instead, Aoba shushes Noiz and, from there, it’s blissfully quiet.

When it’s time to pick someone, Koujaku can’t deny that he’s excited, but he schools his expression not wanting to give anything away. He scans the rows of filled seats, letting his gaze stay briefly on a select few, before he moves on to someone else. He already has someone in mind. He’s known who to pick before the day of the lecture.

"How about you?” he extends his finger out to the audience.

The room bustles with whispers. Everyone looks at one another; unsure of who he’s picked. Since he’s such a nice guy, he clarifies for everyone.

“The one who looks like Hot Topic vomited all over you."

A light shines directly onto where Noiz is. He squints down at his screen. Koujaku can tell the exact moment when Noiz realizes why the room’s gotten so much brighter. Finally, he’s figured out how to get him off his dumb videogames. Clear’s cheers are noticeable within the room. Aoba elbows Noiz in the side. Sei smiles brightly, looking over his staff like a doting parent. Mink smirks, slapping Noiz hard on the back his game flies across the room.

He was right. 

The brat’s face was priceless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I probably should've read through this more thoroughly but it's 2AM and I should be sleeping. I wouldn't be surprised if there's any awesome typos. 
> 
> Anyway, that's it! 
> 
> I just want to thank everyone who left kudos, comments, or just gave this story a chance! I didn't think this weird silly story of mine would be so well-received! Thanks so much! I hesitated on posting this up, but in the end, I'm glad I did it! The funny thing is, I told myself I would never write a coffee shop au, yet here I am more than 80,000 words later. 
> 
> It's been an amazing ride! Thanks so much for joining me on it! ♥


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